Music in the Labyrinth
by C. M. Spinks
Summary: Christine makes a wish she soon comes to regret, and must travel through the Labyrinth to put things right. ((Phantom of the Opera: Labyrinth AU))
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Too Much

The air is cool but thick and heavy as the sky rolls in tones of gray overhead. I hurry from one side of the short cut grassy clearing to the other, stopping only when it _feels_ right. Breathing with a little effort, I throw my arms up, so that my hands are at my shoulder's height, arms stretched out in plea. I close my eyes, and open them when the words feel fit to burst from my very heart if I don't choose to speak them first.

"Give me the child." I proclaim, pausing briefly. The sky rumbles, almost in response. I steel my gaze, but keep my arms open in welcome for an answer to my demand. "Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here, to the castle beyond the Faerie City, to take back the child you have stolen, for my will _is_ as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great.." The storm thunders distantly, angered. I hesitate, the uncertainty obvious in my faltering everything, hands dropping a bit and stance no longer as strong.

"My will is as strong as yours, my kingdom as great… oh, damn!" I relent and go for the book tucked away in my vest, turning to the last page, where the cursed line waits to be rediscovered, yet again. "'You have no power over me.' I can never remember that _line_." I grumble to myself, disappointed that I have, once more, forgotten the pinnacle of the story, the climax, the very penultimate of my favorite part of the entire book! Even running through the entire tale as I have done, time and again with my father, I cannot seem to recall that line in the moment it's needed of me.

Before I can continue to berate myself, a bark from my dog brings my attention back to things. Looking from him to the sky, I am surprised by how dark it is, dark in the way only the soon setting of the sun can make the sky, storm or no storm.

"Oh, no!" I start running, knowing I've lost track of time in the worst possible way. "Caesar, come on!" I beckon my faithful dog as I pass, though he's already prepared to follow. The clouds open up when we're halfway home, the water cold, refreshing, but altogether bothersome because I know I will get in trouble for both myself and Caesar being soaked when we finally get home. My greatest fear is the book, tucked happily away again, getting wet or even. My vest is a thick, though partially transparent material, so I hope my copy of _Labyrinth_ is safe there. I can only hope that any damage done to it is mild or nonexistent as I complete my dash to the back door, where my guardian waits for me. I slow to a reproachful pace, afraid to meet the eyes of Mrs. Giry as she stands on the back porch.

"Christine." The disappointment is obvious in her tone, though she speaks rather quietly.

"I, I am so sorry, I know I promised it would be a short walk, I did not mean to lose track of time, I- I just got caught up in-"

"In your tradition, I know. Hurry inside, and take care of Caesar as you do." She sounds understanding, sympathetic, though I know she cannot help but be disappointed. And it's only fair, I know, that she feels that way. She has plans. Instead of saying what we both know, she simply turns and walks inside, leaving behind a towel to pat down my fluffy hound with. Being a Great Pyrenees, Caesar's perfectly white coat is soaked, and sure to do similar damage to the inside of the house if he's not dried a little. Briefly assuring the status of my book, I take the large towel to his coat and rub him down from his head to his toes and tail, until at last he can at least be described as 'damp' rather than 'soaked'.

I myself have also dried a little, by way of airing out underneath the porch's fans, so I let us both in, dutifully grabbing my book on the way in. To my regret, Mrs. Giry and Meg are waiting for me at the banister, ready to go. I feel so bad for holding them up for so long already, and I had hoped a little that they had just gone ahead by now.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." She holds up a hand, silencing me softly. She never means to be harsh, and though she is often very kind and gently, she is also intimidating in a way I cannot quite describe. She seems to exude control, but she wields it fairly and deftly.

"I know you are. You would never hurt or inconvenience anyone, and I know that. We simply wanted to assure that you were safe at home before we went out." She is fair, and kind, too much so considering all the trouble I'm sure I've given them. They're going out to a ballet tonight, and luckily they're not late for the performance itself, only late by Mrs. Giry's standard of 'twenty minutes early is on time' mentality.

"Are you quite sure you don't want to go with us, Christine?" Meg asks sweetly from beside her mother. They look just alike, though Meg's coloration must surely come from her father. Where Mrs. Giry is dark in her hair and eyes, Meg is light, sandy blonde and green eyed. She looks at me softly, kindly, eagerly. The fourteen year old girl has been a sister to me, and truthfully I wish I could share the eagerness she holds to watch, perform, and breathe ballet, but while I am amazed by it, I simply do not find as much joy in it as she, and I have attended a great deal with them already. Their bi-monthly adventures to one of the many productions that are always being performed somewhere have gotten quite old and, frankly, a bit boring to me. No, better to let them have their fun, and not third wheel them with my dull, tasteless attendance.

"Yes, Meg. I'll be fine at home, I'm only sorry I've made you wait. Please, go have fun. I'll be fine." I repeat, only wishing for them to go so that my embarrassment might be forgotten, and for their night to finally start.

"If you are certain, dear, dinner is still on the stove on a low heat. We'll be back late. Stay inside, don't answer the door or the phone, and have a good evening." Mrs. Giry finally breaks the stagnation by walking over, lightly placing her finger tips along my jaw, placing a small kiss on my forehead. At eighteen years of age, I am very nearly her height, so I dip my head to allow the kiss.

"Thank you, Mrs., I'll be fine, I promise." I smile gratefully. "Thank you." I barely seem to whisper. She simply smiles and takes Meg, who waves cutely at me, by the hand and out the front door. I vaguely hear Meg make comment about how I spend so much time on my own, and her mother's response about how sometimes people need to be alone to think, especially in times of struggle, and how it's the job of those who love them to be there for them when they're ready for other people. Truthfully, I have never spent so much time alone, but so much has changed in the past few months.

I try not to think about the myriad of things that are different as I collect a bowl of gumbo from the pot on the oven, but it's hard. It seems to be all I can do to retrace the path my life has taken, again and again, trying to track where things went wrong. But the answer is the same every time, and very obvious at that.

It all started when my father fell ill.

We had been so happy, here in our small, no-name town. My mother had died when I was very young, and I did not really recall much more than an impression of her, though my father spoke long and often about how much they loved each other and me. Still, in some ways losing her only lead to a stronger bond between my father and I, and we spent a majority of our free time together. When I was still very young, shortly after her death, we moved here from some city and settled in quite peacefully. The small town became quite the home for us both, and quite the stage for our adventures.

For, when I was not in school and he was not at work, we would reenact our favorite novels, or make new stageplays out of other books that we had read recently. These stageplays only grew in number and range in the scenic town, and continued on through middle and even into highschool. As one might guess, our favorite was _Labyrinth_ , a book with an anonymous author that detailed the story of Sarah, a girl who foolishly traded away her infant brother for the love of a fairy prince. I was always Sarah, and sometimes other characters as well, for when you only have two actors to put on a play you simply have to do more than just play the leads! Father was always the baby, Toby, and hilariously so, and we always fought over who got to be the Fairy Prince, Jareth, though the fights were good-natured and silly. I loved to talk back and forth with myself, though I always stumbled at the very end, a habit that I still have not broken as seen in today's singular production.

But at the end of my junior year in highschool, my father became sick. Our little plays became infrequent and strained, and he did not get better. The town's doctors could not find a reason for his illness nor could they find a solution to the pains that came with it. They never thought it fatal, though, and it was a surprise to us all when he passed away during an overnight stay at the hospital, an event that shook the whole town. My father performed in several choir and band groups, and there was no corner of the county that he was not known by _someone_. Many people, many who were strangers to me, attended his funeral, which happened a week after school ended. I was lost. While I had friends, like little Meg, no one had been as important to me as my father had been, and to lose him was a terrible thing. I felt as though I were lost, too, and my body was only a leftover of his passing. I'm still lost.

Since then, Mrs. Giry became my official, legal guardian, and took me into her home, where I have been more or less happy. Don't get me wrong; I love Meg and Mrs. Giry is truly the best mother-figure I could ask for, the best one I have ever known, even, but I still find myself lost in a mental sea, wanting for my father. But he is gone, out of reach, and I am perpetually reminded of this as I continue to exist without him.

I try to put it all, simply everything, out of mind as I clean up what few dishes are left from dinner, but it is a vain and futile effort. Even something as mundane as this stings with his absence.

So I trudge up the stairs to my room, what was once the Girys' guest bedroom, and sort of crumple into my bed. I don't know what to do with myself. If I were in school I could at least distract myself with pointless algebra or writing or whatever! But it's the heart of summer, and I have read all my books twice, written a fair number of my own stories and poems, and sung every song so many times that they all feel flat and heartless when I try to do so again. Nothing feels good anymore, nothing feels right. My heart is sick and exhausted, for without guidance neither it nor I know what to do with ourselves.

I grow restless quickly, unable or unwilling to spend the evening staring at the ceiling again. I am tired from my attempt to play the entire run of _Labyrinth_ myself today, but I could not find sleep right now if my life depended on it. So, I sit up on my bed, and search around my room for something, anything, new that might distract me. A few boxes are left unpacked in the corner, a couple more on the desk by the window. I've been avoiding opening these last ones for no reason in particular, but I suppose that with the evening young and vast before me, there really is no reason to wait any longer. I push myself out of bed and over to the ones by the closet.

Inside the first one are my wall decorations, posters of plays and movies and stars, as well as photographs. I set the photographs aside, the ache of my heart too great to deal with them for now. I happily, or nearly happily, take to setting up the posters with the sticky tack Mrs. Giry got for me the week after I moved in. It takes a good half hour to put them all up, as I move slowly and take my time in deciding their placement, but the result is the room is lively, homey, and screams 'me'. Also in the box, underneath the coiled posters, there was also a bag of cut out stars my father and I made ourselves, which I then dedicate to putting up as well. They are old, made of anything from cardboard to cardstock to posterboard or even cork, but they are all unique and lovely and bear a memory of my father that I allow to run through my head as I put them up, one by one. I don't know why I can let myself remember him in these stars, but the photographs are too much. Perhaps the hazy, imperfection of my memories make it easier to ignore he's missing now than the clear, precise reality of the photos. For, unfortunately, a few chronicle his descent into sickness, and if I were to shuffle through the pile to those, I am quite sure I would not fare well. I am unsure exactly what I would do, but the very thought of seeing his thin, pale, almost plastery face where his happy smiles should have been aches too much to even consider.

In the second box are my trophies, earnings from father-daughter competitions and school performances alike. I have trophies and ribbons from as early as kindergarten, and these too bear memories of what used to be. I lovingly arrange these on the desk and the shelves nailed above it. This takes even less time than the posters and the stars, and the third box has only a few more sets of clothes, which are quickly stuffed away in my dresser or closet, depending on whether they need to hang or can be folded. Soon I am left with one box, and this I dread, for I know that at the bottom is the worst of all my possessions.

Still, avoiding it forever is impossible, so I open it up, taking out the remaining knick-knacks, toys, or books until the source of my woe is revealed. There, at the bottom of the box, is my father's violin case. It's beat from years and years of travel, use, and love, more years than I've been alive, as it was a gift from my mother to my father when they started dating. He could never bear to do more than repair it in her memory, even when she was alive, and he loved everything about it. He could never, ever even stop to consider replacing it. On the back there's an inscription, the words of which have faded until they are now a shadow of their former incarnation. Still, as I pass my fingers over the barely existent indents, I know they read, "People never truly understand until it happens to them". Father said she meant it in regards to love, how she had almost unwillingly become enamored with him, but I find it equally fitting now. Father always lamented the loss of his wife, my mother, but I barely got to know she existed before she was taken from us, and in that way there was not much for me to miss. Now that I am forced to miss him, though, I think I begin to understand why and how he felt the way he did. I stuff away a sob as I click open the case, the familiar metal clasps feeling strangely alien to me. I was never meant to be the one to open it, and it almost feels like a mortal sin to do so without him patiently watching me do so. But I must do this on my own, now, and slowly I draw the lid open.

Inside, the violin sits faithfully, waiting for his expert hands to dutifully draw a loving song out of the ancient strings and bow. He'd taken such good care of it that he'd never had to change the strings and rarely had to tune it. Oh, how patiently and obediently it played for him, and how foolishly it waits for him now.

"Well, you shall have to wait forever, for he will never play you again." I say to it, scornfully. It sits still, seeming to pay no mind to my biting words. Gently, I take the bow and body in my hands. He taught me how to play, though I am sure I am nowhere near as deft with it as he was. No, my voice is my better instrument, but even that has been failing me lately. There is no joy in singing when there is no joy in me at all.. Perhaps I can conjure up a way to live happily if I honor _his_ instrument with a last song.

I stand, walking out of the room, which suddenly seems stuffy and wildly inappropriate for a concert, into the hallway at the top of the stairs. I breathe hard, trying to stand properly, trying to be calm. I draw the bow over the strings, and the sound is an anguished, awkward wail. I cringe at my own misstep, but I am not ready to quit yet. Blinking harshly, unwilling to give into tears, I try again. It is little better, but this time I keep going even though the sound is all wrong.

I know with utter certainty that it is tuned but no matter how I brush the strings with the bow, the sound is wrong, just bad, _angry_. As I strike a string too harshly and it screams at me, I scream back. Now, now the tears come. They drop down my face onto the delicately shaped wooden body of the violin, and I cannot help but impossibly blame the instrument for the loss of my father. I yell at it, a wordless shout that would surely cause alarm if we had any neighbors near us. But we have large yards on either side of the house, and I am grateful as I continue to insult the violin, gripping both its components too harshly, stomping around in a little circle, unsure what to do. I see its case lying in my room, and I almost too harshly throw the violin inside it, slamming the small frame shut. I take it by the handle and storm out into the hallway again.

But what am I doing with it? Where am I going? I want to be rid of it, as if to get rid of it would be to get rid of the memories that I so heavily attach to it, but there is nowhere to take it. I want to respect my father and the love he had not only for the beautiful instrument itself but the woman who gave it to him, but its existence offends me with the terrible weight of the past, a past which had him in it. It only reminds me that my present and future do not have him in it, and those stolen years grind against my mind like gritting teeth.

Mrs. Giry's bedroom door is open, and I stride, each step heavy and harsh, in, half thinking of abandoning it there until I can be responsible enough to bear it and its terrible memories. But I know that when she and Meg get home, there would only be questions, and that would defeat the purpose of putting it there in the first place.

I practically growl in frustration, pacing angrily around the open floor of her room, the walls and floor blue with light from the storm outside. As I wheel around the room again, a muffled but dense thud distracts me. I turn around sharply, searching for the source, but I find it's only the book, fallen out of my vest where I had forgotten it. Not letting go of the case's handle, I stoop to pick up the book with my left hand. It's fallen open to one of the beginning chapters, the precise moment where Sarah wishes away her brother for a moment of quiet.

How fitting, I sneer at the violin, standing back up.

"'Once upon a time'," I quote, not really needing the book for this part, but not wanting to let it go. ", 'there was a beautiful young girl whose stepmother always made her stay home with the baby.'" Here, I jostle the violin, as if it were the offending infant instead of the tool of music that it is. Angry, I continue, "'The baby was a spoiled child. He wanted everything for himself, and the girl was practically a slave. But what no one knew was that the Fairy King fell in love with her, and gave her certain powers. So one night, when the baby had been particularly cruel to her,'" I shake the violin again. ",'she asked the fairies for help. Say the right words, said the fairies, and we'll take the baby to the fairy city, and you will be free. But the girl knew the king would keep the baby in his castle forever and ever and turn it into a fairy, so she suffered in silence until one night when she was tired from doing housework and hurt by the harsh words of her stepmother, and she could bear it no longer!'" I stop, tense. I hold up the violin, the words' edges glinting in the flashing light.

"What I wouldn't give to be rid of you! You and your damned memories of him!" I shriek at it, though it offers no protests. Disgusted, angry, I set it down on the center of the carpet. I cannot bear it anymore, and I resolve to abandon it here, Mrs. Giry's imminent prodding be damned. "I wish the Fairy King really would take you and all your memories away; maybe _then_ I could remember how to be happy!" I shout, nearly breaking into sobs as I walk away. I mean to mock the violin, but in its silence I do believe it succeeds in mocking me.

There is a flash of light and a thunder clap that both seem to come from just outside the master bedroom. I yell at the proximity, and fall to the floor in fright.

When I stand a moment later, the house seems emptier, stiller, somehow. I put my fingers to my lips, suddenly uncertain about… something. I turn myself around, investigating the hall around me. What was I doing a moment ago?

I walk into Mrs. Giry's room, certain I was doing something important, or at least thinking something important here, just a moment ago. But the room seems devoid of any hints of whatever it was. I look down at myself, wondering if that might yield any clues. I have a book in my left hand, open to the early middle.

I must have been reading, then! And I simply got lost in the act of walking and reading until the lightning and thunder shocked me back to the present! Yes, that must have been what I was doing. Unfortunately, I don't remember any of this book, though it seems to hold promise. The shock must have made me forget. Well, that's alright, I shall simply start again, and maybe tomorrow I can go to the library and get something new to read, the summer's been so boring so far.

Why ever didn't I go with Meg and her mother tonight? It would have been so much better than being alone here. I do hate to be alone, and I can't remember the last time I was for so long as an entire evening. Well, I simply make the best of it by reading this new book and laying in bed, relaxing.

As I fall asleep, I almost swear I can hear the sounds of an expert playing a violin, playing a tune I don't know…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I wake briefly when Mrs. Giry and Meg come home, but fall quickly back asleep, too heavy to want to say hello or dispense the effort to get up. My dreams are filled with owls and bubbles and glitter and shadow and song, and the strange sensation that I am not alone.

When I wake in the morning it is early, only eight. Mrs. Giry is no doubt already up and about but it's a Saturday, so she's likely to let Meg and I sleep in til nine or ten. However, I am well rested and cannot conceive of wasting the day away in bed any longer. I spring up, feeling light and eager, and as if I have not felt this way in a long time, but while the summer's been rather non-eventful, I can't remember why I might have been anything other than perfectly content.

I get dressed in my favorite bell-bottom jeans with lace sewn onto the cuffs, and a flowing, wide-sleeved shirt, debating on another vest today or not. In the end I settle on a dark, faux-leather one, embroidered at the shoulders. I hum a little ditty as I trot down the stairs, smelling waffles.

"Good morning, Mrs. Giry!" I call, singsongy, as I enter the small kitchen. She turns to greet me, but stops. I hesitate in the doorway, unsure of her reaction. She looks me up and down briefly, then turns back to the waffle iron.

"Good morning, dear. You seem rather, ah, cheerful today." She remarks.

"Yes, I slept particularly well last night, and, if you have no objections, I should like to go the library today." Mrs. Giry nods, her back still turned to me. "Are you well, ma'am? You seem a bit tense today." I ask, worried.

"Oh, I'm fine, Christine." She says honestly. "Truth be told, I'm worried about you. I know.. times have been difficult for you, adjusting to such a large change in your life and at such a young age, when you should only be worrying about boys and dances and college… I just want you to know you can always come to me to talk about whatever's bothering you, be it school or… or other things."

"Ma'am?" I ask, confused.

"Please forgive me, but I peeked in your room when we got home last night, and I saw that you finally went through those last boxes… I know that must have been- well, it must have been difficult for you." She finally turns back around, her dark eyes seeming ready to flood.

"Oh, I'm fine! I suppose it was just.. difficult to accept that I'm actually living with you. It's like a dream, and I suppose I was scared to unpack those last boxes only to have the dream end, you know?" I laugh a little at my own folly.

"A dream? Surely you mean it's more like a nightmare." She's smiling, but she seems concerned again.

"Not at all! I'm quite grateful for you taking me in, you know, you're the best family a girl could ask for!" I try to reassure her, but Mrs. Giry only seems to grow more concerned, going so far as to abandon the waffle iron to approach me.

"I- I know we've avoided talking about it for your sake, but you don't have to pretend you don't miss your father, Christine. If- if I somehow made you think you had to try to forget about him, I'm quite sorry, I never meant to-" At this I break away from her gentle, gripping hands, retreating back into the foyer.  
"M-my father?" I repeat. I'm so confused- I don't know my birth family at all, how could I miss someone _I don't remember?_

"Yes, your father." She reiterates, as if that explains everything. Softly tossing her head to the side, she continues. "His loss has been hard on the whole town, but it has been harder on no one than you, my dear, and you've tried to deal with it so stoically, but you don't have to, I hope you know. You can talk about it, with me, with Meg…" She gestures towards the upstairs, where Meg is still sleeping. "Or- or if we're too close or you're not comfortable with that, we can find you a professional to talk to."

"I, I, no, you don't.." I stutter, so wildly unsure of everything. She doesn't seem to notice, charging ahead, gliding closer.

"Oh, I'm only sorry I didn't suggest something sooner, I should have known you needed more than you were asking for, that's just like you to try to deal with everything yourself- Oh, Christine." Her lip curls up in sorrow, those tears that threatened earlier finally making their move. In two long strides she has me wrapped in her arms, sobbing a little. For some reason, I can feel tears daintily pour out of my own eyes, though I can't tell why. Me? I had a father? No!

I mean, of course there was a man and a woman, who, had they kept me, would have been my mother and father, but they didn't, and so any claim to that title is gone! I have no parents, no one to miss, no one to talk about or cry over; and yet here I stand in the arms of the only mother I've ever known crying with her over a man she claims exists but I cannot recall.

"I, I.." I mumble again, my head and heart hurting in a way I can't quite describe. I push away from Mrs. Giry, who's still sobbing. "I don't understand." I say truthfully.

"Death is a hard thing to understand." She nods sagely, but that's not what I mean.

"No, no, I don't- I don't have a father." This only makes her start crying a little harder, tears streaming rather than dropping. "No, wait, I mean, I mean I have no father to have lost, Mrs. Giry. I don't understand who you're talking about." Shaking my head, I try to explain.

She looks at me blankly, and then with a deep, growing concern that I've only seen once, when Meg broke her arm two years ago and had a bad reaction to the painkillers they'd given her.

"Christine?" Her voice is a little hoarse, like she's straining to speak. She seems scared, and it's scaring me. My heart is pounding and I just want to run, run far away and not deal with whatever this is.

"I- I'm just going to go." I manage to say. "I'll be home later." Without waiting for a response or reaction, I turn and dash out the front door, snatching my bike from the side of the house. I head towards the library in a mindless frenzy, wanting nothing more than to put that behind me. I don't understand, I don't _understand_.

I slow my pedaling down as the sense of urgency finally starts to die within me, and the library is already in sight. Gratefully, I park my bike at the racks, berating myself for forgetting my lock. But it's too late now, and I don't want to go home until there's even half a chance Mrs. Giry may have forgotten our exchange. So I duck into the library as it starts to rain lightly, and try to forget about it.

Inside, there are a number of people already going about their business, most of them librarians. But to my surprise, there are a few others here, kids from my school and people I don't recognize. I thought I'd be the only 'customer' here this early, as it's not even a quarter to nine yet, but it seems I was wrong. After pausing in the entryway, I tip my head down and head to the fantasy section. I hear several people take up whispery, hushed conversations, and I doubt they know I can hear them. Someone once told me I had excellent hearing, and that it helped make me an excellent singer. Strange… I can't seem to remember who told me that.

A face flashes quickly in my mind, but as soon as it's gone I can scarcely remember a detail about it, as if someone burned a photo in my face and the light, rather than the image, is burned into my eyes. I hold a hand to my head as it pulses once, painfully.

I stop at the next aisle, desperate for a distraction. Running my hands over the spines and titles, I start scanning for something I haven't read but also looks interesting. Even as I set myself to this task, I can't help but hear the hushed conversations around me.

"That's Christine Daae, you know."

"The girl who's dad died?"

"Yeah- but don't mention it to her. I think this is the first time she's come out on her own since the _funeral_." Two girls whisper in awed, if sad, reverence. Disgusted at their tone, confused at their words, I turn my attention to another.

".. She looks so sad." Says an older, perhaps college-aged boy, to someone else.

"Can you blame her? He was a big part of her life, a great dad." The someone else, a boy I think I recognize, says. "Do you suppose you could get on with your life so easily if _you_ lost someone like that?" He scoffs, seeming as irritated at his companion as I am. But why am I agitated, other than the nerve of these people to so openly talk about me? I'm sure there's another reason- but all their talk about a dead dad makes my head hurt, makes the books and the shelves seem blurry. I shut out their words, not wanting to dal with any of it. I focus solely on the books, and it's not until I read the titles of three shelves that I am stopped.

"Pardon me, Christine?" The boy asks, his voice cutting into my concentration.

"I- uh, yes?" I reply, a bit stunned. I was almost lost in the books, and quite glad to be so.

"I'm, uh, I'm Raoul. I go to school with you, but I've never had the courage to talk to you before…" He stops, putting his hands behind his back. Is he… scared of me?

"Yes, I know who you are." I try to smile gently, but I fear I just come off as cold.

"Ah, well, I was just wondering how you're doing?"

"I'm quite well, thank you. Everyone seems worried about me lately, but that's the only thing that seems wrong to me." I shrug. I feel a little sick; this confusion is really messing with me.

"Well, given what you've gone through, I think it would rather impolite, simply wrong, for no one to worry about you." He chuckles awkwardly.

"And what, exactly, have I gone through?" I try my best not to glare at him, but I'm so done with all this. Everyone must be out of their minds with this story about me and a father I don't have. It's not Raoul's fault though, and I relax after he fails to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry. Today started off well enough but there seems to be some town-wide confusion affecting everybody. I'm. I'm not dealing with it well."

"Ho-how do you mean, Christine?" Raoul asks with a light concern, almost more curious than anything.

"Well, I, I suppose it started with Mrs. Giry, my guardian. She- I can hardly remember it already, but she seemed to think that _I_ was distressed about something, and I couldn't figure out what. She went on for a while, and finally said something about my father- ha! I don't have a father, Raoul, but she was under the impression that I was sad about missing him." I laugh, a bit sardonically. "And now I'm here, trying to start my day with something fun, and everyone here is saying the same thing! I thought, maybe Mrs. Giry is tired and a bit dazed from her late night with Meg, and her mind's still wrapped up in a bad dream. But these people have the same story- I wonder if someone with a similar name has had that tragedy fall on them but everyone's confused me for them. I have no father!" I laugh again, forced. How I hate to wish that woe on someone else, but the truth is that it can't possibly be my own. It simply can't.

"Christine?" Raoul interjects. He has that same expression as Mrs. Giry did, eyebrows knitting together, mouth slightly agape in a loss of words.

"Don't tell me you believe it, too?"

"I- I think you need to see something." He offers a hand, which I slowly accept. Perhaps there will be an answer to this madness if I follow him. He walks me through the aisles, through the chairs and tables to the bulletin boards. The first is a library specific one, where you can request books be bought or traded. The second is a community one, where the monthly papers' front page is usually displayed as well as other announcements like events or sales. As I approach, Raoul's hand tight on my own, I see something is wrong already. This paper's date is two months ago already, and this month's is stapled awkwardly to the side, as if the old one is too important to be moved yet.

As I settle in front of this paper, its date perplexing me, I look to Raoul.

"What does this explain?"

"Take a look at the headline, the photo." He says, voice barely a murmur. His eyes are wide and searching. Frowning, I turn to the paper, and let my own eyes settle on the words.

" **Beloved Musician and Father Lost: Gustave Daae Dies of Unknown Illness"**

I am… taken by surprise to see my last name plastered to the headline, but accompanied by a first name that I could swear I don't know. But my heart leaps at it all the same, aching in protest, as if I really should be sad. I force myself to look at the black and white photos that accompany it. A man stands with a violin and a girl- me!- in the photo on the left. He smiles, and so do I. Who is he? How do I supposedly know him? My head begins to pound angrily, but I sweep my gaze over to the second picture. The man is in a bed, but he's gaunt, eyes dark and skin, even in black and white, so sickly.

Once again I feel everything in me scream that this is wrong, the pulsing of my head trying to force this truth out of my mind. I blink, and tears, displaced by my eyelids, fall down my cheeks.

"I have to go." I say, and walk away, feeling like a ghost. I hear Raoul's feet shuffling behind me, but he doesn't follow.

Blankly, I take my bike and ride away, letting what must be muscle memory lead me down the streets of the town, past parks and under tree boughs and through a quickly strengthening rain, until I arrive at a house that seems strangely familiar.

"What has happened to me?" I say aloud. I tread up the stairs of the front porch, to the large but simple door. It's locked, but when my hand wanders to the top of the frame without my consent, I find a key, and it opens the door. Swallowing hard, I step inside. Half-memories hit me like a wave, and I feel as though my very mind will be crushed, but just as spontaneously as they arrive, they're gone, stolen away.

"I know this house… I know this house." I speak with increasing fervor. "What is _happening_?" I grit my teeth. I try to turn away, to go back the way I came, but the door slams shut, and through the windows framing it, I see the outside is black. Night? How- it was only midmorning a second ago!

I reel back around, feeling frightened, terribly unsure. I dash up the stairs, searching for, for, for what? For- oh, I know I'm looking for something specific but I can't _name_ it! Frustrated, scared, hurting but for god only knows why, I put my hands in my hair and cry.

"I wish I _understood_!" I yell, voice cracking. Outside, a thunderclap booms through the house, shaking everything. I fall back, and somehow it seems darker than ever. Gasping from the shock, the fear, I sit up, looking around as though I'm being hunted. I pause when, from out of the shadows, a tall black-cloaked figure walks into view.

"You've been making so many wishes, Christine. If I didn't know any better, I might think you're not _happy_ with the gifts I've been giving you." He speaks, his words seeming crisp and clear in the haze of the darkness. They seem to bring the buzzing noise of reality to a standstill, as if his presence demands quiet and calm. Suddenly I know him; he is the Fairy King, the one from that book I read last night.

"Jareth?" I ask, almost fearing confirmation. He growls at that. I scoot back- I've never heard a sound like that come out of a _person_.

"No." He looks down at me, and I realize he's wearing a mask, but, oddly enough, it seems to move and emote like a face does. But it's clearly porcelain, the way it shines and reflects, the pure white glinting smoothly.

"Bu- but the book-"

"Was wrong!" He bellows, and I shrink back into the carpeted floor. "You shouldn't be so surprised- after all, you are not named Sarah, and you did not wish away a baby." At this, I start to remember again, only to have the knowledge torn away from me again.

"I- I don't understand. What's happening?" I ask, trying to gain some control of myself. The unnamed Fairy King offers a hand, which I take, allowing him to pull me to my feet. He tips his head to the side, clearly in knowledge of what I am not.

"You drew upon my love for you and made a wish- which I granted to the letter, I might add." His voice purrs, delicate but powerful. I shiver as there is giggling all around us. I whip my head around, but all I'm met with is shuffling and shushing. I turn back to my counterpart.

"Who are you?"

"I have many names, many titles. Which do you prefer, Christine?" I realize, only as he lifts my hand, that he has not let it go, and so I pull away, stepping back.

"I… What is your.. earthly name?" At this he chuckles.

"You may call me Erik." Thunder rolls around the house, distantly. "The King of the Fairie Folk."

"Okay… Erik, what- Can you tell me what I wished for?"

"Only the removal of a nuisance and a source of great pain in your life." He waves his hand in dismissal, but I shake my head.

"No, what exactly did I wish away? Everyone is saying things that I don't remember- even now I'm not quite sure what they were saying but I know it can't be true and yet.." I swallow, suddenly very emotional. I'm not sure what I'm feeling, but it's powerful, almost too powerful. I feel my shoulders start to shake softly.

"Oh, my dear, dear Christine." His eyes focus on mine, their color indescribably warm. "Memories. You wished away memories."  
"Of what, of whom?" I beg.

"If I tell you, you shall only feel their sting again! No, I will not tell you!" Erik barks, suddenly harsh. I take another step back, hear another round of giggling. I'm scared.

"But I-"

"Have made your wish and had it granted! Are you so ungrateful of my gift that you would demand a _refund_?" He sneers.

"No, no, it's not that, I'm grateful for your gift." I press my hands together. "I'm sure you meant only the best, but I think I didn't understand the repercussions of my wish- a fault that is entirely my own, s-sir." I falter at the end.

"Even so, a gift given is a gift gone; why should I undo what I have gone out of my way to accomplish in your name?" He asks. For some reason, while his voice has softened, there is an edge to it, in the way he's standing, the way he's asking. Honestly, I don't know how to answer him. If he really went out of his way to do something that I foolishly, mistakenly asked for, why is that his problem? I sputter for a moment.

"Y-you claim to love me, b-bu-but you are a stranger to me. I- that is, how can you claim that, when I've never known you?" With this, Erik pauses. Redirection is not my strong suite in a conversation, but it's all I can think of to do instead of stalling and fading into silence. He turns, cloak billowing out behind him in an unfelt wind.

"I have watched you, from my kingdom beyond the earthly realm. I have guarded you, you know, since you were very young. You are kind and good, and I love you." He declares this in such a way that it almost seem like a fact- something truly undeniable. The sky is blue, hats are for heads, Erik loves me. And yet..

"If that's true… and I don't doubt it, but, if it's true, you know how much not knowing something upsets me. I.. I made a stupid wish, and it was very good of you to grant it for me, but surely you realize that I have only given myself a new pain in the old one's place. This will torment me, you realize? Please, I… I know it's not your fault I made that wish, but I ask that you help me correct my mistake.." I beg. He seems unconvinced, back turned to me in the darkness.

"What's said is said." He murmurs, almost gently, as if he's consoling me.

"But I didn't _mean_ it."

"Didn't you?" He turns sharply, suddenly very close to me, towering nearly a head higher than me.

"Please." I ask, not moving. I can't give in, not until I learn the truth. He remains, as still as I am, unblinking and unwavering.

"Hmm." His voice is back to purring, and he steps away. "I've brought you a gift, Christine." His fingers dance in a twirl through the air, and there is suddenly a glass orb resting on the tips, the presumably heavy ball held aloft by impossibly thin digits.

"… What is it?" I ask, intrigued. What more can I do?

"Oh, a crystal, nothing more, really, but if you turn it this way," He sets the ball to twist delicately through his fingers, impossibly fluid. ", you can see your dreams. But a precious gift like this is not for a girl who questions me and torments herself with memories she does not _need_." He hisses, the ball still dancing in his hand. I have to admit, despite the tension of the moment, I am hopelessly entranced with the way he can make it move.

"You like it, don't you? You want it?" I nod, slightly. "Then leave what's forgotten to lie where it shall." The ball stops, resting in the palm of his hand, presented to me. But if I choose it, I forsake my memories, and I know that I can't live with that decision. I shake my head.

"I can't. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I, I just can't. I need to remember." I try to explain, but he grimaces, and with a short clench of his fist around the ball, it turns into a scorpion, which he flings at me harshly. I shriek, stepping back yet again, but it falls off me and skitters away, lost in the shadows.

Stepping close to me again, Erik's voice is low and clear, like his voice is the air itself. "Don't defy me, Christine. As lovely as you are, you're no match for _me_." I balk at the presumption that I am somehow _lesser_ than him, just because I'm human or a girl or whatever he thinks. I summon a harsh look, doing just what he asked me not to: defying him.

"I need them back." I state. There is no question now. "What can I do to earn them _back_?" He chuckles, then steps aside, revealing a bedroom, and a window.

"You know what you have to do." Through the window I can see a landscape that's impossibly orange, both dark and gritty but also, somehow, light and airy. I walk toward the window, and I realize this is the setting of the book- this is the labyrinth that guards the city. "In my castle, I have the memories you so eagerly cast away." He places his hands on my shoulders as he comes up behind me. I normally shrink from touch, especially that of strangers, and though he seems determined to be my enemy in this, his hands are, all the same, strangely comforting. But I mustn't grow complacent or allow him to think he can change my mind.

"It doesn't look that far." And it truly doesn't. From here, it seems to be only a couple city blocks in radius. But I want to trick myself that maybe I can do this, for even though the distance doesn't seem that great, it's still more than I've ever even tried to do.

"It's farther than you think." Erik whispers in my ear, his masked face almost buried in my dark hair. He steps away from me, and when I turn to face him, I see that the house that was around usbis now a desert landscape, the wind fierce as it blows through the desolate, dusty plains. "Time is short." He points to a clock, manifested and hung in the very air. "You have thirteen hours to solve the labyrinth and rescue your memories until they become mine, forever. Such a pity." He purrs again, but it's in mocking, not in comfort. His smile is a smirk, his eyes are weighed down on me, challenging me, daring me to give up.

I meet his gaze and raise my head high, trying to make myself the picture of pride and confidence. I am unwilling to give in before I've even had a chance to try. Erik only chuckles, arrogantly, and steps back into nothingness. I look around, certain I'm alone, that he really has left and that I really am about to embark on a literal quest. Suddenly I am nervous, maybe even afraid.

Turning to the labyrinth, I try to summon the courage I had only a moment ago and prepare myself for the adventure at hand. I take in a big breath, softly clenching my fists and flexing my shoulders.

"It doesn't look that hard. Come on, feet." I announce to myself, and take the first step.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The outer wall of the labyrinth quickly grows until it is a ten foot mammoth of a wall, seeming, even from the outside, to be a couple feet thick. It's made of dirty, red, sandy looking stone, but I have no doubt that it could and would stand a thousand years before even chipping. As I start to contemplate how I'll get in, since I can't see a door or gate anywhere, I hear a strange, shrill sound rise into the air.

Squinting my eyes, I scan for the source of the sound, and find it in the form of a small stout lady creature singing by the edge of the labyrinth. I trot down the hill, the rest of the way to the wall, eager to talk to someone, maybe ask for their advice. The sound only gets worse as I get close. It's technically good; the sound is strong and pure, but uses an unnecessary amount of force and wavers far too much, and it would appear to be very much on purpose. I grit my teeth as it continues.

"Ah! Another fan laid to rest by the sound of my _heavenly_ voice!" The owner of the voice declares, skipping away gleefully. Left behind is a tiny pixie, lying dead in the dirt. I try to ignore it, after all, I don't know how things work here.

"Excuse me, miss!" I call as she heads off to the right. She turns, pouting at me.

"And who might you be?"

"I'm Christine, I'm trying to navigate the labyrinth. Who are you?"

" **I** am Carlotta, siren of the labyrinth!" She declares, quite proudly too. "How can you claim to be navigating the labyrinth when you've not even made it inside?" She purses her lips into a confident, superior smile.

"Actually, I was hoping you might help me with that."

"And why should _I_ ," She hangs on that word, ", help _you?_ "

"Well… Since your voice is so powerful, I'm sure you don't get a lot of feedback, you know, praise or anything… I fancy myself a singer as well, and I'd love to hear you up close.." I try to interest her. She acts like she's thinking heavily on it, then turns around, small tail flicking playfully.

"Well, I do _love_ to be heard. Mmm… Yes, I shall do this. I am not unkind, after all." She laughs, amused at her own words. Without a moment's notice, she launches right into a shrieking rendition of some classical piece, but the exact one is too obscured in her liberties taken with it. It's horrible, off-tune, out of sync, and utterly unintelligible, as she's not enunciating at all. The sound is almost pleasant in some ways, but any sweetness in it is lost in the forceful power she's pumping into it. I hear tiny wings buzz and then stop, followed by several –thuds- as tiny bodies hit the floor.

"Ah, I'm too talented! Those pixies are lucky to die wrapped in my melodies!" Carlotta declares, then holds out a hand, fingers twitching, waiting for my input.

"Ah, ye-yes! You have a very powerful voice, Carlotta! It's only, if you don't mind me saying, you perhaps overuse your power? If every note is the strongest, then it's all the same, but if you reserve that strength for special moments, it might be all the more effective then!" I smile, hoping my critique is soft enough that she does not think I mean to insult her, because I don't. Truly, she has potential, but I am not a teacher, and she seems quite absorbed in her own opinion of herself. I wait for her to say something as her face falls from utter confidence to something mildly questioning.

"Hmmph.. You may have a point there.." She grumbles, then turns and flutters away on tiny feathered wings.

"Ah, wait, aren't you going to show me a way in?"

"Oh, I never agreed to do any such thing. The only thing we agreed to was that I would sing, and you would tell me what you thought. If you meant to trade that moment for _help_ you should have been clearer." She says flippantly.

"Wait, please!" She does not, fluttering away as fast as she can. Her body is a little heavy and her wings a little too small to carry her much faster than I can stride, though, so I keep up with her quite well. "Please, do you know a way in? A hint, a clue?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I do not." She shrugs. I stop, throwing my hands in the air.

"Oh, it's hopeless!" I cry, heart clenching with panic already. Carlotta turns in the air, smug again.

"Not if you ask the _right_ questions." With her hands on her hips and her tail flicking about, she hovers just in front of me. I pause for a moment. What have I asked? I've asked for help, advice, knowledge…

"How do I get into the labyrinth?" Perhaps asking directly will do the trick? She nods, feeling clever for 'walking me through it'.

"There you go. You can get in- right through there." She gestures to the wall, where there is a magnificent wooden gate that opens with a soft click, doors swinging inward.  
"Ah!" I gasp, running on my toes inside. I hear Carlotta float in after me. The immediate inside is only two directions, left or right.

"You really going in?" Carlotta asks, fluttering around me.

"I'm afraid I have to." I speak with grim determination, perhaps a little too dramatically.

"Which way shall you choose?"

"I.. I don't know. They look the same to me."

"Ha! Shows what _you_ know! _I_ wouldn't go either way!"

"Hmmp." My lips press together, not wanting to insult her, but getting rather impatient with her attitude. "I think I can do this, no matter which way I start out."

"Oh my, brave are we? Well, even if you can make it to the center, King Erik will never let you _leave_!" She bursts into a small fit of laughter, landing on a discarded tree branch.

"That's what you think." I reply softly. "I know I can do this."

"Hah." She says bitterly. "Don't say I didn't warn you; it's an impossible task." She shrugs and begins to walk away, but I can tell she's upset about my defiance. She likes to be right. I bite my lip for a moment.

"Uh, Carlotta?" I call tentatively. She turns harshly on a heel, glaring at me. She raises a single eyebrow, asking me 'what' in the harshest tone possible. "Thank you. For your help." Then I turn and run, because I don't know what more to say, and she's probably done with dealing with me anyway.

I keep up a jog, prepared to take the first turn I see. Except that it goes straight, first for a minute, and then another two, and another five. As the ground underneath climaxes at a small, rolling hill, I can see the path ahead of me stretching straight with no branches or turns in sight. I exhale in frustration, clenching my hands into fists. How can this be a labyrinth if there are no damn _turns_? I look back the way I came, and I can't even see the gate I came in through, which means there's no real way to maybe start over, or even see if Carlotta has more condescending advice for me. I sit down against the inner wall, out of breath.

"Hullo!" A small voice brings me out of my inner monologue. I turn to find a small blue.. worm… thing. I look around to confirm no other source, then look back to the worm.

"Did you just say 'hello'?" I ask, a little baffled. I mean, a siren I guess I could understand, but a talking worm? What _isn't_ including in 'fairie folk'?

"No, I said 'hullo', but I suppose that's close enough." It, he nods, cheerful.

"You're a worm?" I ask, though it's a little redundant.

"Yeah."

"Do… do you happen to know how to navigate the labyrinth?"

"No, I'm just a worm." He nods, quite pleased to be just a worm. I nod. At least he's kind and straightforward. "Why don't you come inside and meet the missus?" I nearly laugh at that thought, me coming inside a worms house to meet his wife; how would I even fit?

"No, but thank you. I've got to make my way through this labyrinth to get.. something." That can't be good, that I don't remember what I'm working for, but I remember, at least, that it's very important. As long as I remember that, I can keep going. "But I can't find any turns, so I don't know how I'll ever do that."

"What're you talkin' about? There's a turn right there." He nudges his whole body at the opposite wall. I look, but I don't see anything different about the wall.

"I don't understand."

"Look, things aren't always what they look like 'round here, but I promise you if you walk through that bit a wall right there, you'll be able to keep goin'." He nudges again. I nod, a little confused, but I'm willing to try anything if it'll get me to Erik and my prize. I approach the wall with my hands in front of me, but to my surprise they don't hit the stone, and I keep walking. Turning around, I see the old path, and the worm, but now the opening between them is obvious.

"How..?" I duck my head around the corner, but I simply can't conceive how this could have seemed invisible to me.

"Like I said, things aren't always what they seem here." The worm nods, understanding. I'm touched by how patient he is, when I must seem like a child lost in a playground.

"Thank you. I've got to be going now, but I won't forget this." I start to walk off to the right, but the worm's tiny shouting stops me, calls me back.

"Don't go that way! Go the _other_ way, it's much better!"

"Oh, thank you again, sir." I bow my head in gratitude, and start jogging.

I'm starting to feel good about this again, as now that I've been given the first turn, there's finally more choices to make, and I know the classic solution to any labyrinth: keep one hand on one side, and never let go. It gets tiresome when you walk dead ends, but it ensures that you walk _out_ of them, at least, and you keep going in. Inevitably, you'll have walked the entire labyrinth, taken _every_ path possible, including the correct one. Of course, I suppose that if this is anything like the labyrinth in the book, it won't always be so straightforward. Sarah gets herself in a mess of trouble.. though I'm starting to have trouble recalling the exact details. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe Erik is taking more memories than I initially asked, to cheat me out of any 'extra' help I might get from that book.

But that seems odd to me, since he was so adamant the book was wrong, at least in regards to his name, and mine of course, and something about a baby. Yeah, Sarah wishes away her baby step-brother, and I've wished away memories. But that doesn't feel like everything. Perhaps I gave away something else as well. And how would I know? I wished it and the memories of whatever it might be away! I mumble to myself about how ungrateful I was for it, no matter the pain it might have given me. I'm not a child anymore, and I can't have a fit everytime something hurts me.. Of course, I don't think I expected anyone to give a damn about my fit, so I'm not sure I'm entirely to blame. What girl reasonably expects someone to wait on their every whim?

Which reminds me- I feel like I ought to be uncomfortable with Erik's declaration of love, and how, if it's true, he's supposedly watched me all my life. And knowing, even thinking, that he may have been spying on me at any moment of my life does ruffle my thoughts a bit, since I was so unaware of it and it was obviously without my permission. But his other point- that seems odd in the way that it doesn't seem odd at all. This situation is absurd, and yet that point seems the most grounded, most truthful, most easy to comprehend of it all, which makes no sense!

For one, I hardly think I'm worthy of the love of a literal Fairie King. I'm nothing special, though I do try to be kind and considerate as much as possible. I'm… come to think of it, I can't really describe myself. Is this something else Erik has, accidentally or not, taken from me? Who am I? What am I like?

As this new set of questions take hold of my mind, a song rises through the walls and the passages, arresting my attention. Delicate, somber notes drawn out long and thin echo through the labyrinth to me. Somewhere in my heart I am sure it comes from the very centre of the castle, where Erik and my memories are waiting for me.

That doesn't matter, though. I feel it in my being, resonating with everything I am, calling me towards it. I would follow this song, this sound, until the universe was nothing but silver dust, for this sound seems to describe _me_ , a wordless answer to my previous questions. I can feel my body relax, each step I take so smooth and careless that I feel as if I am floating.

I feel like a ghost wandering the labyrinth, a ghost of a girl both haunting the walls and being haunted. For this music, oh, this music, it is so divine, so pure, so understanding, and I wish only to in turn understand it. It is hard to remember to keep my hand on the wall, to remember that I have a purpose, a duty here, that cannot be forsaken. But the song seems to understand this as well, the lighter notes a symphony of delicate praise and adulation. Soon, the monologue it has to me is too much for me to leave alone, and so I lift my voice to join it, simple notes added without any meaning other than it simply feels _right_. In joining the instrument's voice with my own, the monologue becomes a conversation, and I feel so wholly understood and I hope that it knows that I am doing my best to understand it as well.

Soon, almost too easily now that I am singing, I lose myself in the song, hardly caring whether or not my hand stays on the wall or if I have walked this path before. All that matters is the song, its continuation, its completion, my part in it. I'm so sure of it, in this song I belong, I'm right and whole, that whoever is playing with me, for me, is also right and good and with me. I understand, I understand, I try to say with the sound of my voice. I understand and I'm here! As the song starts to reach up into an agreement between us, 'yes, yes we understand each other, and what more can be asked between two people?', as something starts to make itself known to me-

It's gone.

The silence, the stillness in the wake of what just was, I cannot bear it. I fall to my knees; I'm so suddenly lost without the song's presence in the labyrinth, in my mind! I gasp for air. How hard was I singing? I look around, and I can't tell where I am, the passage doesn't look familiar at all, as if I hadn't just walked here myself, as if I'd been dropped here instead. I feel numb, the kind of numbness that comes when you've done or experienced all too much. Lifting my hands to my cheeks, I find that I was crying. Hastily, I wipe away the tears.

Oh, what would my father think of me now?

Wait, my father? I blink in confusion. Yes. Yes! I have, had, a father! And he.. He means a lot to me! Why on earth couldn't I remember him before? Is _he_ what I wished away? How could I? I love him so much; why would I ever want him out of my life?

Then it occurs to me that the song was played on a violin, and suddenly I'm sure it's my father's. So, I wished away memories of my dad and his violin. I don't remember why, yet, but I'm more sure than ever that I'm making the right decision by trying to get it, and him, back!

So I dry my face and stand up, my whole body aching. How far did I walk when under Erik's spell? For who else could it be, playing my father's violin so perfectly, so utterly magically? As I stretch out my legs and back, I wonder why he would play, though. It's only served to help strengthen my resolve, and I would have thought, as King of Tricksters, he would have done anything to do exactly the opposite. Perhaps he meant to lead me astray with the mournful song?

Well, it doesn't matter now. I mean, I _am_ lost, and he did succeed in getting me to remove my hand from the wall, and since I don't know which side it was that I was following, I am a little unsure how to proceed. To choose the wrong wall now would mean to backtrack everything, and I've no time to waste on repeating passages. Besides which, this part of the labyrinth is much more open, rather than tight halls it is like.. connected courtyards, with arches and stairs and growing plants and statues. Except where one might find a garden or a path to a house, there is simply more courtyards, more statues and pillars and platforms. I think my wall trick may have run out of its usefulness here anyhow.

So how to proceed?

I know must think of a way to keep check of where I have and have not been, and now that my wall trick is useless, I suppose a marking system would do better. I know from classic fairytales that stones or bread would do me no good if I had them, but I wonder if a marker, as in a modern day, used-for-writing marker, would work? I can't think of a way that would be undone or used in turn to trick _me_. I check the pockets of my vest- the last time I'd worn it is when I went out with Mrs. Giry and Meg, and I'd insisted on 'dolling up' for the occasion, and I remember that I definitely took some makeup with me for when I inevitably smudged something. On the inside pocket I find an eye shadow palette and one of my favorite red lipsticks. The eye shadow is a brown that unfortunately does not stand out on the stones of the labyrinth, but the lipstick does. So with a heavy heart I start to draw arrows showing the ways I have gone, consoling myself that a tube of lipstick is a small price to pay for a father. Similarly, a tube of lipstick is replaceable with a small amount of money; a father and a lifetime of memories are not.

It gets easier to mark my way with my favorite color after the first mark is made; it's already ruined, then, so there's nothing more lost after that first wound. I make it after I shimmy up a high wall to spy the castle. I figure that as long as I orient myself in that direction, most choices I make will probably lead me there.

I start to realize I have no idea how long I've been at this. I don't feel tired or hungry, and aside from the ache in my legs and sometimes my lungs, I don't really feel much as far as physical needs go. If I had to guess, I'd say I've used three of my thirteen hours, but I'm a terrible judge of time, and my wristwatch isn't working. I even try to start tracking the sun, only twice it's size into the sky, looming low, but after checking it twice I wonder if it's moved at all.

I go so far as to stop my trekking to try to spot it moving. I mumble a song that I know for a fact is longer than three minutes, and in all that time the sun does not even slide so much as a millimeter in the sky. I huff in exasperation. No clock, no reliable sun- how am I to tell how much time I have? Then I have a small idea- I can use songs to judge my time here! What time I've spent is already lost, but from here on if I can keep a song in my head and repeat it, and multiply its length by its repetitions, I will have a rough idea of how much time I'm spending.

So, humming a new song, I set back to wandering the labyrinth and marking my progress. After I sing about ten iterations of a two minute song, I hit the first dead end. I sigh, trying to be glad that I've come this far without hitting one yet, and retreat to my last mark. Except that now it's turned the opposite way..

"My.. my mark's been changed!" I exclaim, hardly willing to believe this. I put a hand to my head, panicking and trying desperately not to. I've got to confirm this. I recognize the way I came, and I head back to the mark just before this one, and I find that it's been turned around too, though heaven only knows how someone managed to turn a thirty foot stone statue!

"No, no, no! That's- That's not fair!" I cry, quite ready to break down.

"You're right, it's _not_ fair!" A voice calls from behind me, causing me to jump.

"Th-this was a solid wall for ten feet, jus- just a moment ago.." I am in awe. That wall is now a small alcove, where two stature bearing figures stand in front of two doors, respectively. Is this a natural function of the labyrinth or is Erik doing this on purpose? Or perhaps those are one and the same?

"No, the wall's behind you!" One of the figures says. Terrified, I turn around, swinging my arm out only to hit a wall with my hand. The statue is gone, and now the alcove is sealed off.

"This is impossible… If it keeps changing then what am I supposed to _do_? How can I be sure anything I decide is right or not?"

"Try a door!" Says one figure, the left. I notice now that the voices are coming from below my eye level, and I finally see that these two figures are actually four people, two people perpendicular to each other, attached… somehow, I'm sure. The lower two are the ones that have been speaking thus far. The right bottom one continues:

"One leads directly to the castle! The other…!"

"Bum bum bummmmm!" The two top people speak in unison.

"Certain death!" The bottom left finishes.

"How am I to know which to choose?" I ask. Surely there is a riddle or a challenge?

"Ah… we don't know." The bottom left speakes again.

"Oh, but they do!" The bottom right points with a finger to the top two people, peering over the shields in perfect mirror to their counterparts.

"Well, I'll ask them." I say, and turn to the top halves, ready to indulge their game. But they speak before I can.

"You can only ask one of us." The top left says, nodding dutifully.

"And one of us always lies and one of us always speakes the truth. _He's_ the liar!" The top right describes.

"Am not, I speak the truth!" The top left replies, offended.

"What a liar!" Then all four of them snicker, quite pleased with themselves. I nod. This isn't supposed to be _easy_ , after all. I think for a moment, wondering how I can go about divining which is which. I think about those statements. If the right were the liar, then I can't even believe that they universally tell truths or lies, for the statement negates itself. But if the left is the liar, I could ask both, and presumably as many questions as I want, but I can automatically disbelieve everything he tells me. I have a hard time settling on who to ask, because I would not put it past them to both be horrid liars.

After all, with a rule that negates itself if it is spoken but the liar, it would make much more sense for the liar to be the one who does _not_ announce the rule about lying. But this is a world of the Fae, creatures of mischief and cunning and trickery, so it's not so hard for me to believe that that this rule is meaningless, and that neither the left nor the right can be trusted at all. I groan at the absurdity.

"What's the matter, miss? Havin' a hard time deciding whom to ask?" The bottom right asks.

"Well, I have some concerns." I say flatly.

"What are those?" The bottom left asks.

"Well… I do not know how many questions I can ask. If I can ask many, then I can spend a bit of time whittling away at which is which, but I can only ask one question, then I have to be very, very clever with what I ask." Both of the bottom two nod, looking between themselves.

"You only get one question." The top right says in a helpful tone. I squint at him. If he's the liar, like I suspect he is, this is meaningless. But I can't argue with the nonsense that is having a liar tell a rule about liars that contradicts itself. I make a pouting face, which is really my thinking face, and turn to the left shield and door. I decide the left is the liar.

"Is this the door to the castle?" I ask to the dog-faced man creature. He mutters with his mirror behind the shield then pops up. I try no to question this.

"Yes." He nods affirmatively.

"Then the right is the door to the castle." I speak with confidence. The four of them gasp and giggle and question me. "It's true, it must be! You can't have a rule about liars and truths told by a liar- so the left one must be the liar and therefore the right door is the door to the castle." I square my shoulders and gently push past the right shield creatures, opening the door.

"I know I'm right." I say as I step into the room. There's a hallway with natural light peering in through an open ceiling. "Yes, I knew-"

I am cut off by the flooring falling, or perhaps disappearing out from under me.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I scream as I fall straight into the darkness, the light from the outside quickly shutting off. For a moment there is only falling and I barely have time or quickness of thought to contemplate how this will obviously end. I am too terrified from the suddenness of the fall itself, and how quickly the dark swooped in around me.

Before I can realize it, I'm being grabbed, slowed, held up but dozens and dozens of hands. I don't like where or how some of them are grabbing me, but I'm grateful enough to no longer be falling that I won't comment.

"Hello, who are you? Can you help?" I ask, once my breathe returns to me and I can relax even a little bit.

"Help? We _are_ helping!" A voice that is more like several voices comes from all around me.

"We're helping hands!" Another voice, also an amalgam, adds. I can see vague movement around me, and I notice this.. hole, this tower, or whatever it is, is made entirely of hands. Yes, golden hands that extend out of the wall as naturally as if the wall were arms and wrists. I shudder at this.

"Th-thank you." I manage to say.

"Yes, yes, well, make a choice! We haven't got all day!" Yet another voice adds, seeming to be quite cross and impatient.

"Choice?" I repeat stupidly.

"Up or down?" The first voice, I think, says with emphasis on each word. With this I look up. It seems shut off, the way I came, so I sigh. I feel as though I will regret this.

"Well, I am already pointed that way, and I should rather not strain you too much for helping me, so.. down?"

"She chose down!" A sneering voice echoes through the tunnel.

"She chose down?" Another asks with snobbish disbelief.

"Was that wrong?" I ask, frightened, but the hands holding onto me are already letting go, shuffling my weight to those under them, and hastily. I try to hold on but they squirm away, quickly passing me from one to the other.

"Too late!" All the voices squeal with delight as they finally have taken me as far as they can, dropping me into open air with no idea what awaits me at the bottom. I shriek, but am quickly cut off as I hit the ground. Luckily I was still mostly feet first, and so my landing turns into a roll, and though my legs and hips feel a bit jarred, nothing is broken.

I groan anyway, the ache in my knees making it hard to stand. I grope around in the dark, trying to gain some bearings as to where I am. As I fumble, a light comes out of nowhere, or, rather, it comes into being somewhere to my left. I whirl around, surprised and on guard.

It's Carlotta, holding a lantern, leaning against a rock. I look around, worried about what might happen next.

"Good, you're looking around." She remarks, smugly.

"Yes, I've learned a couple things since we met." After I say that, I feel like it's something one would say after they run into someone they hadn't seen for a decade.

"I'm sure you've noticed there's no doors." Actually, I hadn't gotten to notice that yet. But it's true. "This is an oubliette. Labyrinth's full of them."

"An oubliette?" I ask. I recognize the word from the book, but of course I can't seem to remember its context or definition.

"It's a place you put people to forget about them." She says with a mix of a sneer and sympathy.

"I see." So Erik's more or less lead me here to forget about me? Is that what I'm supposed to take away from this? I have no doubt this is in some way a message from him to me, specifically. "How can I get back to the labyrinth?" I ask directly. That's the lesson Carlotta taught me; don't mince words.

"Mmm.. I might know a shortcut out of here." She says slowly, deliberately inspecting her claw-like nails very closely.

"Will you show me?" I try not to sound too eager, but I am quite anxious to get back to work.

"Sure, sure. The way out of here, though, is the way out of the labyrinth." She smiles, looking up at me over her claws.

"What do you- No! No, I am not giving up _or_ starting over! There must be away out of this oubliette that will get me back on track _inside_ the labyrinth!" I try not to shout, but my voice reels upward. How could she?

"Maybe there is, but it'll do you no good! If the Phantom does not want you to succeed then you never will! It's _his_ labyrinth, after all, built of his very own willpower. You've no hope of success." Carlotta declares this with angry dismissal, turning her head away sharply.

"Th- the phantom?" I'm confused. "I thought this was Erik's labyrinth."

"Oh- don't use his _name_ , you imbecile!"

"Sorry, sorry!" I throw my hands up in apology as the harpy bares her teeth at me.

"Ugh- yes it is his labyrinth, but he has many names and many titles. King, Phantom, Red Death, Angel of Music, Angel of Death; all these and more." She waves her hand, rolling her eyes.

"Those are some grim titles.." I bite my lip. I definitely don't remember _this_ from the book.

"What did you expect? We are Fairie; we are not always sunshine and starlight and glitter and hope. We are magic, and he more so than any else." She explains. "Now, about that shortcut-"  
"No! I told you that I'm not giving up, your Phantom's willpower be damned! I must do this! At the least I must know that I did everything I could, that I tried my very hardest to succeed." I feel tears trying to form so I continue hastily. "Is there anything I can do to convince you to help _me_ succeed? Wh- why are you even going to do this much for me?"

"Well, ah, you see… I thought, 'gee, a poor, unintelligent girl like her _suffering_ her way through the labyrinth, it hardly seems _fair_ to abandon her in there, perhaps I should help the silly child'. So I came along to find you, and here you are, trapped in the darkness of an oubliette with no hope of escape but yours truly. Are you really going to forsake the _only_ chance you have of survival because 'you must do this.'?" With her hands on her hip, every word reeks of derision. She thinks me a child, then? Maybe so, but this _'child'_ has a temper.

"Well, if you think me so naïve and unintelligent, you'll have to forgive me if I don't _trust_ you to actually guide me to _any_ kind of safety." I turn away, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I point my face up.

"Ex- _cuse_ me?"

"Well, if I am truly so naïve is it so hard to believe that after you point out this tremendous character flaw I try to change it? Well, the naïve thing to do would be to trust you. You are a deus ex machina, and you are not even on my side; why on earth would I follow you _anywhere_?"

"Are you saying that I am a liar? That I cannot be trusted?" I can hear her puff up in anger.

"Yes! If you are so rude and so condescending, why should I put up with your so called 'help'? You might just lead me to certain doom, too! No, I cannot trust you, Carlotta, because you will not even treat me like a person, and all this after we had such a nice conversation earlier. I thought you might be a friend, but I guess I really _was_ naïve to think that." I put a little pout in my voice.

"I will show you! I _am_ trustworthy! I come all this way to help you and you call me a liar? Ha! I will prove you wrong! I am the Siren of the Labyrinth and I know this place inside and out and in _all_ its incarnations! Why, I could even lead you _directly to the castle_ if I so chose to!" She hollers.

"Ah, so there _is_ a way into the labyrinth!" I turn on her quickly, grinning. She claps a hand over her mouth, confirming what she doesn't want me to know. Her shock quickly turns to anger, as her cheeks puff up, the feathers on her back and chest ruffling out.

"So? Now you know there is a way, but you do not know where or _which_ way it is at all." She growls.

"No, but now I know there _is_ hope, whether you help me or not! I just need to be clever!"

"You can never be cleverer than the Phantom, and you are already trapped _here_ , so I think you are doomed, doomed!" She grins maliciously, then sits down as if to watch me fail.

Not to be looked down on, I start to investigate the oubliette. It is the same stone as the last part of the maze, though more reddish. It's damp and dark, the only light being the flickering of the lamp beside Carlotta. Though I check every crevice, feel up every wall at every angle, I do not find so much as a keyhole. Frustrated, I decide there must be some magical solution to this, like a riddle or a password.

Turning around to inspect the walls around me again, my gaze passes over Carlotta, and I notice she is deeply uncomfortable, and trying to hide it. I pause.

"Are you okay?" I ask her. She seems shocked, as her feathers fluff up in response.

"I!" She spits out quickly. "I am well." She says unconvincingly. Her breathing is hard, but in the way that she's doing her best to suppress it. She seems to shake. Is she cold? Perhaps she has claustrophobia?

"Why don't you leave if you don't like it here?" She looks at me with bewildered wide eyes, but doesn't answer, pressing her lips hard together. I stare at her questioningly, but it dawns on me that if she leaves, she risks me discovering her way out. "You're staying so that I have to stay, too."

"N-no- I, I simply like to watch you squirm." She manages a small amount of confidence, but the ever-increasing shake of her shoulders tells me otherwise. I bite my lip- what to do, what to do? Sighing, I approach her, sitting down beside her.

"Look, you're obviously uncomfortable, and if you stay much longer I'm afraid you'll pass out from nerves or worse. Just, just go. I'll look away, or you can snuff out the light, and I'll be just as stuck as when you found me, and we all get what we want." I shrug. That's.. more or less true.

"I do not need your _pity._ " She spits at me.

"It's not pity, it's concern. I hate to see anyone suffer, and you've done your job, so I don't see why you need to stay and scare yourself like this. Seriously, put out the lantern and sneak away. I- I'll even sing really loudly so I can't hear the way you go." I offer. Anything to help calm her down; her shakes are getting worse despite everything.

Carlotta looks at me, ginger orange eyes staring hard on my own. Then, before I am quite aware of it, she knocks the lantern over harshly with a wing, the glass shattering and the light burning out quickly. I shriek at the sudden darkness, a panic quickly overtaking my rationale. In the dark, I feel a small, heavy hand on my own start to pull me, and in my panic I simply follow it. I'm scared of the dark, and I thought I could handle it if I knew it was coming, but I was wrong. This guiding hand is the only thing keeping me from losing myself in a fit of tears and screams.

As suddenly as Carlotta plunged me into darkness, it is gone as we are out in a new tunnel, with light and fresher air, though we are still obviously underground. I gasp with relief, both at the new air, which I didn't know I needed, and the light. Finally I can think again, and I realize that it was Carlotta herself who led me out of the oubliette, though how exactly I think I'll never know.

"Carlotta?" I hear myself say in disbelief. Her smaller hand is still holding tight to mine, her claws gentle against my palm.

"Think nothing of it!" She says, throwing my hand away. "I took pity on you, nothing more! I will not lead you anywhere else!" She begins to walk away hastily. Over her shoulder she yells, "Good luck with your infernal _quest_ , it gets a lot worse from here!"

"Wait!" I take off after her.

"No, I'll not!" She speeds up, not letting me near.

"No, no, I just want to say something, very quickly!" I beg. With a huff _and_ a groan, she stops.

"Well? What is so important you have to say?" She stamps her clawed feet impatiently.

"Thank you. You really didn't have to do that, but you did it anyway. It was very kind of you."  
"It was no kindness, only pity." She insists.

"Still, I'm grateful either way. Can I do anything for you, to repay you?" I insist right back. She looks at me with irritated thoughtfulness. I have to admit that part of me just wants to follow her out of her and that I'm just fishing for an excuse to do so.

"Well.. your comment earlier about my singing, while not what I wanted to hear, was perhaps a little bit helpful. It is not often I get to hear feedback, you are right, so perhaps you could tell me more what you think?" In her way, she's asking for help. She knows she could be better and that my advice is a good start in doing that. I nod.

"Of course, as one singer to another, I would love that." I smile. Carlotta simply snorts, and begins to walk away again.

"Good, but I am not going to stay here while you opinionate at me. Come, come." I follow after her. I talk quietly about breathing and maintaining breath while performing, which is a smaller thing I noticed in her performances earlier. I myself struggle with it sometimes, as evidenced by how much Erik's little hypnosis took out of me earlier today. I follow behind her as closely as possible without hovering over her, as she only comes up to my hip, and she silently leads me up tunnels and ladders and crawlspaces until we enter what feels like a mountainous cavern. The stone here is grey and smooth, and it flows over with greenery even inside where the natural light is dim. I stop my monologue of a lesson as I gape at the enormous carvings of faces that decorate the walls and natural pillars.

"GO NO FURTHER!" I nearly shriek when on of the faces calls out, voice booming.

"TURN BACK!"

"THIS IS NOT THE WAY!"

"ALL HOPE IS LOST YE WHO CARRY ON!" All those we pass say something of the like, and the effect is very nervewracking.

"Um, Carlotta.." I ask timidly.

"Oh, pay them no mind, they're false alarms. Them and things like them show up all over the labyrinth, and especially when you're on the right track." She informs me casually. "Now-"

"SOON IT WILL BE TOO LATE!" A 'false alarm' bellows right beside us.

"Oh, hush! I'm no adventurer to be fooled by the likes of you!" She slaps the chin of the rock face, and while I'm sure it has no effect, it still sends them into an undignified grumbling rage. "Come along, we're almost out, and then your little lesson will be over, so I suggest you hurry along with whatever you want to say."

"Oh, right, as I was saying…" I continue, wondering all the while if she's just using this as an excuse to help me. Perhaps she's nicer than I thought, and she's just playing by some unspoken rules to cheat the system. Or maybe she values my advice enough that it's worth it to temporarily break the rules? Either way, I'm grateful for everything she's done so far.

The light fades as we turn into a darker tunnel, but I try to keep my head as I instruct her, I don't want to let her know I'm nervous. As we continue further into the dark, I see a figure sitting ahead of us. They're cloaked with layers and layers of hoods or blankets, and in their hand I see what I presume is a cup for coins. A beggar, here? Perhaps we can help them.

"What have we here?" A croaky, crony voice calls to us, the head lifting lightly, face still invisible under the covers.

"Nothing, nothing at all." Carlotta replies with her typical indifferent dismissal. But the air tenses as the figure lifts their head, rosy orange eyes peering out. They stand up, the cloaks fall away.

"Nothing?" Hisses Erik, wearing a red, small-horned mask, it's eyebrows furious. "Nothing at all?"

"Oh, your majesty!" Carlotta exclaims, terrified.

"Hello, Harlot." He greets her, purposefully slurring her name. He speaks too clearly for it to be an accident.

"It's Carlotta." I correct him quickly. Only now does he look at me, his eyes the only thing to move.

"Whatever." He turns back to Carlotta, warm eyes darting. "What on my earth do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, your lordship, I, I-"

"Are you _helping_ her?" He leans forward ever so slightly, his height being double Carlotta's. She trembles, cowering. She backs away, and Erik steps forward, effectively cutting me off from her, isolating us both. I start to panic. What is he doing?

"In what sense, my lord?" She squeaks.

"In the sense that you are leading her to my _castle_." His voice fills the dark tunnel, making me dizzy.

"Oh, _stars_ no, my lord! I, well, I was tricking her, you- you see, making her think I am helpful, yes, but really taking her to the beginning again, yes!" She explains in a sputtering, halting voice. I reel from this confession.

"What!?" I shout, unable to contain myself. I hear her whimper. They both ignore me.

"If I thought for a moment you were _betraying me_ I would have to feed you your own vocal chords and pluck your wings for a scarf." He says delicately, the severity and cruelty of his words a harsh contradiction to the tone with which he speaks them. I only hear Carlotta breathing as a response, but I can imagine her eyes wide, frame small and huddled underneath him. His red form finally turns around, revealing her behind him, to face me. He steps forward like a ballet dancer gracefully approaching the starting place for an elegant dance.

"And you, Christine?" I'm taken aback by the velvet sound of his voice saying my name. "How do you like my labyrinth?" I swallow hard, pushing myself forward.

"It's been a piece of cake." It's been anything but, but I won't let him know how much I've struggled already, how little I've done on my own. He nods, slowly.

"If it's been so pleasant, perhaps you would won't mind if I make it a little more accommodating to your apparent skill level?" The clock appears to his right, and without breaking his eye contact with me, he lifts his hand and twirls his finger like he's stirring coffee, and the hands on the clock subtract three hours from what's left of my thirteen hours.

"What, no! That's not fair!" I say.

"You think so?" His voice turns dark and threatening in a way that chills my blood and halts my breath. "I do wonder what your comparison is. But if my labyrinth is so easy, such a nice _cake_ , as you say- I wonder how you will like this?" He flicks his wrists, and a crystal ball appears. He holds it out for only a moment, then turns and hurls it into the darkness, over Carlotta's head. She shrieks, shrinking down again, as he suddenly rounds on her, but he turns and walks straight into a wall, disappearing.

A clanking and grinding come from the tunnel behind Carlotta, and soon a terrible machine with scraping knives for hands is coming for us, visible in the low light.

"Aaaack, a Cleaner!" She shouts and begins flying my way, the only way there is to go, scared for her life. I follow, again because there is no other way to go to, sprinting away from the absurd death machine. Unfortunately, the tunnel is eventually blocked off by a grate, trapping us with the approaching 'Cleaner', it's spinning blades never hesitating. Carlotta tears at the metal bars with her clawed hands and feet, but I notice that the wall to our left shakes loosely as the Cleaner approaches. I throw my body against it, bruising my right side, but I feel it give way a little, and I feel hope. I push and shove against it, but it finally falls out from underneath my weight when Carlotta throws her own against it, the stone crumbling into dusty blocks.

The Cleaner passes by only a second later, and I gasp and giggle with relief. The pounding of my heart only barely relaxes, as if my body does not yet believe we're safe.

"Goodness…"I breathe, lying still. "Are you alright?" I ask Carlotta as I hear her standing.

"Ugh. I will live. But I will not be happy about it." She grumbles. I stand, slowly, sighing. "A Cleaner! You sure know how to antagonize him." She snarls. As I remember what she said to him about leading me the wrong way, I keep quiet. Carlotta heads to an indent in a wall and I follow. Inside is a ladder, light streaming in from the grate entrance at the top.

"This is just what we need." She nods to herself and begins climbing. I huff and follow after.

"How am I to trust you now?" I ask.

"What? Oh, yes, about that, I was lying to him to get him to leave us alone; no one wants the Red Death plaguing them while they try to navigate _this_ place."

"But how can I believe you?" I want to, I do, but with all this double speak, I don't know if I can.

"Well, let me say it this way: Have you got any choice but to trust me for now?" Her tail flicks in my face.

"I suppose you're right, but it certainly puts a damper on things." I say, not meaning to sound as gruff or grumpy as I do. We climb the rest of the way in silence, until Carlotta shoves the grate away with a small struggle. She flies the rest of the way out, and I climb into what looks to be more of the courtyard landscape.

"Ah." She sighs, soaking in the sun, stretching slightly. "Well- good luck." She says as I push the grate back into place.

"Wait, what?"

"I'm through. Red Death came after us, after _you_ , and I will not senselessly help you when it will clearly cost my precious voice _and_ my wings!" She starts to fly away.

"Wait, please at least tell me where to go from here!" I hate to ask for help, but if she knows as much as she says she does it would be foolish not to. She doesn't stop, though, and she doesn't answer with anything more than a high pitched 'hmmph!'. I sigh, then stand.

I brush off my jeans, the dusty dirt on my hands making the mess on my legs worse.

"Okay, I can do this." I tell myself, alone again. Turning around, I can see that I'm at least closer to the castle than before, so it's not like I've made negative progress.

"Hello!" A voice calls. I turn to the left, and though he was not there before, a man sits on a stone seat, smiling friendlily.

"Ah, hello. I'm Christine. I'm navigating the labyrinth; do you have any suggestions?" Don't mince words; lesson number one.

"What are you doing!?" Carlotta is suddenly at my side, literally; she lands on me, hands on my shoulder and bird feet gripping my hip and back.

"I'm asking for help!" I explain. "Since I'll find none with you, perhaps he'll be of more assistance."

"And who's this?" The man asks. Hesitating only briefly, I reply.

"My friend, Carlotta."

"Ah." He nods, as if that explains some unknown question. "I will give my advice to you and your friend for a small price."

"I have nothing really to give, sir…" I bite my lip, running a hand through my hair, thinking. I feel my ear and the small stub of my earring. "Oh!" I take out the small zirconia stone earrings. They were a birthday gift from Meg, but surely she'd understand that I would not give them up if it were not necessary? I have nothing else to give but the clothes I'm wearing, not even my lipstick. I think I lost that in the effort to knock down the wall and escape the Cleaner.

"Will.. will these do?" I ask the man. He inspects them in my open palm with squinted eyes, then nods. Before I can drop them in his cup, Carlotta yanks me back.

"You needn't _give_ him that!" She points accusingly at the old man, glaring in a strange, pleading way at me. I shake my head and she doesn't stop me from dropping them into his cup, the small stones plinking. The man smiles and sits back.

"I was once a manager of a theatre, and I often found that being direct about my wants would get me the opposite. I learned that sometimes the way forward can only be found by going _backwards_." He nods, seeming pleased with himself.

"And how can I apply that to my experience here in the labyrinth?" Thus far it's been the opposite; when I try to be cunning and tricky no one will be clear with me, but when I am honest and forward, most are willing to work with me.

"Perhaps you should try to look at things in a different way before you give up hope." He shrugs, and I sadly realize I've been taken advantage of. He has no real advice for me. Still, I don't know him and his life, and this may be the only way he has to keep himself going.

"Well, thank you for your advice, sir. Have a good day." I give a small nod and walk away, feeling like a fool. I wish I could believe that in his mind he was indeed being helpful, but with the chuckle I hear him give as I walk away, I can't lie to myself. My face burns with shame, and I feel angry tears biting at my eyes.

"Ugh! For such fine jewelry he should have given you _actual_ directions. For such a treasure he should have given you a map, that old codfish!" Carlotta remarks, her own voice as bitter as I feel.  
"Strange, it sounds like you're on my side." I give a small laugh, but it's flat. She's quiet, her hands lightly kneading my shoulder.

"Did you mean what you said?" She asks. There's a strange emotional sound in her voice.

"Hmm?"

"You called me 'friend'. Did you mean this?"

"Oh. Yeah, of course. I'm still struggling with trusting you but… yeah. Yeah, you're my friend, Carlotta." I turn my head, but it's awkward because she's at my shoulder. Still, her eyes are a bit glassy, her mouth open in a small 'o', as if she can't believe the words. She turns away, looking at the ground as I walk towards the castle.

"Friend." I hear her say. It sounds like she's testing the word. "Friend."

I think she likes it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I walk in silence with Carlotta still firmly planted on my side for several minutes. She seems to be in deep, meaningful thought, and I'd hate to interrupt that for some petty conversation she's not ready for. I start keeping track of time with a new song, humming gently so I don't distract her. After four repetitions, twelve minutes, she kneads my shoulder gently, almost thoughtlessly, like she's preparing to speak but isn't quite ready yet. Another half repetition later, she nudges me, and speaks.

"I have never had a friend before." She says. I'm not sure what she means by this.

"I've never had a friend quite like you before." I reply. And that's true in a lot of ways. Most of my friends are at least my species. Most of my friends I met in school, not in a fairyland.

"What is it like to be a friend?" She asks. I'm taken aback. What _does_ it mean to be a friend? Everyone knows what it's like to have a friend, or what it's like not to have a friend, but how often do we define it?

"Um.. well. When you're friends with someone, you care about them. You like what they have to say and you like to talk to them. You spend time together, and generally you just try to have a good time when you do."

"What do friends talk about?" She seems perplexed, like talking is a waste of time.

"Anything. What they did that day, or things they've thought about, or they have themed conversations, like this one. For instance, I once had a very long debate with my friend Meg about our favorite bands. Other times you talk about things that bother you, and it's always very important to talk to each other about things that you do to each other that hurt your feelings. Because if you always hurt each other, it's not a very good friendship. Sometimes it's unavoidable, though, because you want different things, and you have to come to terms with that." I shrug, the gesture somewhat impeded by Carlotta hanging so heavily on me.

"Hmm. That seems like an awful lot of work." She grumbles, pouting.

"Well, I suppose that it doesn't always seem like work. This isn't work, is it?"

"… No."

"And I guess friends don't always have to talk either. They can be quiet together too. It just depends how you like to be together. I.. I suppose I'm the wrong person to tell you all this, since I don't really have too many friends. This is just what I've observed in other friendships and my own few." I laugh at myself. Carlotta 'harrumphs' quietly. So I just fall quiet and keep walking.

Before I can find something meaningful to say or decide to start humming again, a loud howling tears through the peaceful quiet. Carlotta shrieks, digging all four sets of claws into me, causing me to shriek as well. It hurts, it hurts, as she jostles me, the pointed ends of her feet surely tearing into me- but then she swiftly starts to fly away, hurling herself away from me.

"Carlotta, wait! Friends stay together!" I reach out with a hand as I lose my balance from her pushing off me so harshly. I stumble to my knees, roughing up my hands on the harsh stone.

Hardly pausing, I hear her call, "Carlotta has no friends! Carlotta _is_ no one's friend, except her own!" And then she's gone. I sigh. I actually feel quite torn up, this time. I thought.. I thought we were getting somewhere. I stand a bit solemnly, feeling.. sad.

Well, I figure there's only one thing to do, now. That's to face the source of that awful sound and see what's up. Feeling brave, I charge up a large set of stairs, possibly thirty steps, and turn a few corners rapidly, until I find something that disgusts me.

The howling is coming from a huge furry _something_ , hung upside down, being prodded by several smaller creatures with sticks that have mouths on them. It's obviously not in defense or out of need; the damn gremlins laugh as it howls with pain. I am horrified and infuriated but I don't know what to do. Those.. mouth-sticks would do a number on me, and then we'd both be trapped and bitten. I want to do something but what? What can I do that doesn't end with us both as victims? I'm one, weaponless girl against at lest five of those jerks.

As the poor thing howls again, several small bops on my ankles alert me to some stones. I pick them up; they're dense, heavy stones. I allow myself a small grin as I begin to hurl them at the gremlins, the stones clanging loudly when they collide with their cheap armor.

I laugh, glad to pay back their cruelty a little. A small chaos ensues as their stupid sticks end up pointed at each other, and soon, in their confusion, their attacks are aimed solely at themselves. Eventually one yells, 'retreat' and their fight breaks up, and they go dashing off.

"Ha!" I shout, victorious, still laughing a little. It falls apart quickly, though, because the creature, still strung up by his wrists and ankles, is baying softly in pain.

"Oh, you poor thing.." I follow the line with which he's held up to the stakes in the ground. I hold onto the slack as I kick out the stakes, but my tiny weight is nothing compared to his, and so as he plummets a few feet to the ground when the stakes are released, I am pulled just that much into the air. I fall on my back when the rope snaps tight and I let go accidentally, but I've had worse falls today alone. I try not to groan as I sit up, my back sore.

The creature rolls to his feet, his arms significantly longer than his legs and torso combined. He's got a doggish face, with big right-angle horns on either side of his head. His hands are long and clawed, dark grey in tone like his face and feet. He's got a bit of an underbite, the two canines of his lower jaw poking over his top lip. All in all, he's actually really cute, or he would be, if he weren't cowering in fear of another attack. His short tail is tucked low.

"Hey, hey.." I call his attention with a gentle voice. He looks over at me, looking me up and down with suspicion. "I'm the one who threw the rocks. I got you down. You're safe now. Or, safer, I suppose." He flexes his nose at me, curious.

"Friend?" He asks in a surprisingly clear voice. I nod, encouraging.

"Yes, yes. I'm Christine, I am a friend." I smile. "And you? What's your name?"

"Raoul." He pronounces it with a single syllable: 'rall'.

"I have a friend back home named 'Raoul'." I say it with the two syllable pronunciation: 'ra-ool'.

"Friend." He purrs, smiling. He finally stands up, all the way back on his legs, his long arms dangling awkwardly in front, knuckles close to the ground.

"Yes, friend." He only purrs again, a deep throaty sound that could easily be mistaken for a growl. The pleasant grin on his face tells me it's not, though, and I feel like I can definitely trust him. He seems a bit simple, but kind, and I suppose that's all that matters. "Raoul, do you know how to get through the labyrinth?"

"Hmm." He rumbles, eyebrows pulling tight together in thought. He looks at the castle, and all around, craning his neck, nose flaring softly. "Hmm. No." He shakes his head sadly as he looks back to me.

"Oh, that's okay. It's really hard; I wonder if _anyone_ knows their way through the labyrinth. Well, aside from Carlotta, but seeing as she's not here and not likely to come back, I guess we're on our own. Oh, that is, if you want to come with me?"

"Hmm." Raoul nods, tail wagging softly. "Raoul will help Christine."

"Thank you, Raoul! You are a kind beast. I wish I knew what you were, though. Carlotta called herself a siren, I think? But she looks like a harpy." Raoul just shrugs, but follows all the same.

I take to humming again after I run out of things to say to Raoul, and he seems quite content to listen no matter what I do, hardly having anything to say himself. That's alright, though, because he's putting himself into the task of navigation quite seriously. Sometimes he smells something and leads me away from certain paths, with little explanation, though I'm quite glad to have someone openly helpful. Though, I do miss Carlotta. I hope she's alright.

Raoul and I wander through the maze for a good thirty minutes before we find another door- scenario. Another two doors, separated by only a foot or so of wall space. These have huge knockers on them, with decorative bronze heads bearing the knockers. The left one is a very round head and face, balding with a curl of hair in the middle. The ring for the knocker comes out of his ears, and he looks disgruntled at that. The right one is a longer, squarer face. His hair is fuller, thicker, ridiculously curled. The ring for his doorknocker is placed in his mouth, and he, as well, does not seem pleased with this.

"Well, Raoul, which of these poor souls should we pick?" He grunts, sniffing at both of them briefly, but then:

"It's very rude to stare!" The head on the left hollers, overly loud considering how close we're standing, though the ring in his ears gives ample explanation.

"Oh!" I squeak. I hardly expected these to be sentient, but I should probably expect everything and anything to at least have the potential, given everything I've seen here. "I- I'm sorry, we're just trying to decide which of- which door to choose."

"Hrr crnt hrr yrrr." The right head mumbles around his ring.

"Uh, hold on." I say, and I take the ring out of his mouth. I nearly drop it, the thing must be five or ten pounds. How can he bear this weight constantly on his _mouth_? "Ah, you were saying?" I ask as I adjust the knocker in my hands.

"Ooooh, that feels so good… I haven't been able to speak clearly in centuries.." He rolls his eyes, but he's obviously very relieved. He stretches his lips and jaw a bit more before continuing. "As I was saying, it's no point trying to talk to him-", he rolls his head towards his counterpart. "- for he's deaf as a post." He nods, concretely.

"Mumble mumble mumble- you're the worst conversation partner!" The left one replies.

"All _you_ do is holler and moan, you decorative door knob!" The right retorts.

"Ugh- it's no good, I can't hear you." The left, I'm sure, would shrug if he had shoulders.

"Ah, pardon." I interrupt. They both 'turn' back to me, what little they have in necks angling their faces awkwardly. "Where do your doors lead?" I ask the right head after a small hesitation, since he'll be able to give me an actual answer.

"Heavens above if either of us actually know; we're just the knockers." He laughs sardonically. I think it's cruel that they more or less guard an unknown. I sigh in sympathy.

"Well, how do I open them? You don't appear to have any handles.."

"Knock, and the door will open." He states a bit dramatically, pointing his face as far up as he can, attempting to look regale. I look between the two, unsure who to choose.

"Well… I think I'll take your door. Would you mind taking this back?"

"No, no, no!" He squirms, clenching his lips together.

"Doesn't want that thing back in his mouth? Can't say I blame him." The left head calls. I groan. Well, he didn't say how I had to knock..

"I'm going to try something." I take the ring and bop it against the door, the head's eyebrows shooting up in surprise. We both look around, everything is still for a moment, then the door creaks open. "Ah! I didn't think that would work!"

"I hardly expected it to as well!" He seems delighted.

"What should I do with this?" I hold up the ring.

"Well… I guess I should take it back anyway, then. So it doesn't get lost… Duty and all." He sighs. "It was noble of you to try to keep me free of it, but there's no escaping it." He opens his mouth expectantly.

"Are you sure? I could.. hook it somewhere?" I offer. I look around for a post or a particularly heavy rock or something to keep it handy so that he, at least, doesn't have to deal with it. I'm not sure I could do anything for the other door, given that his ring is hooked in his ears.

"No, no point. Someone will steal it or it'll turn into- into butterflies or something absurd." He sighs again. "Give it here. I wish you luck, little lady." He opens his mouth again, sadly resigned.

"Well.. If you are quite sure. Thank you. I hope you don't have to wait too long to be able to speak again." I say as I place the knocker in his mouth again. He nods, the edges of his mouth almost turned up in a smile. "Remember that trick, though, maybe you'll figure out a way to be rid of it forever one day. Come on, Raoul." I take Raoul by the hand, as he seems a bit torn about this decision. I understand; it's a bitter kind of victory.

"Good-bye, good luck." He says as we pass through. He sounds sad. I wish I could help.

The next area is dark, but full of plant life that reaches for the light that streams in. It's like a natural greenhouse, in the way that it feels crowded and lively. Raoul rumbles behind me, but I keep leading him forward. Soon, though, he starts to pull back a little, softly, hesitantly, his big hand gently gripping mine and holding me back. I look back to him, and find that he's very anxious. His eyes shift around nervously, his body language screaming 'alert, high danger'.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"Scared." He says shortly. I don't see what there is to be scared about, though. This place seems no more threatening than any other.. though I suppose the labyrinth is good with things not being what they seem. Still, until I can quantify the danger, we can't stop.

"That's okay; we're okay. I don't think there's anything to be afraid of here.." He whines in reply. "I think we'll be okay if we stick together, and it's safer to keep moving.. Oh, I could hardly imagine someone as big as you being afraid of anything." I laugh shortly, patting his hand. "Come on, I'll show you." I say, and take a few confident strides forward, letting go of his hands, into a beam of light. I close my eyes and make a show of turning around, arms out, asking something to go wrong. It's a leap of faith that this area, at least for now, is _not_ out for our heads.

"See? Nothing's wrong here." I open my eyes and Raoul is gone. I look around, even walk back a few yards but I don't see him, don't even hear him, and his steps are usually quite tangible both in sound and feel. "Raoul?" I whisper, afraid. Was I wrong to doubt him? To try to reassure him? Is he safe, is he hurt? Is this my fault?

"RAOUL!" I start to panic.

~{(Carlotta)}~

I huff as my wings start to tire. I hate that I am cursed with such tiny wings, I deserve wings as big as an angels! But I have what I have, so I simply drop to my feet, grateful no one else is around to witness me stumble. I am still on edge. That girl, that stupid girl has Red Death himself chasing after her! Nothing good comes of his attention, and I refuse to be associated!

It was bad enough he asked me to lead her back to the beginning in the first place. I say 'ask', but no one dares refuse the Angel of Death when he requests you to do him a favor. Once upon a time he may return it, but these days to encounter him and live to tell are a miracle. If he was ever kind, he isn't anymore and has not been in living memory. To earn his ire is certain suffering; long and drawn out like the wailing of his instruments each night. I have heard it said that lucky ones are turned into instruments themselves, and they live only when he plays his pain into them, their lives one of suffering, both his and their own. And that is what happens to lucky ones.

No, I do not want to be lucky or unlucky. I want to be uninvolved, singing and flying far away from this mess of a kingdom. Damn the girl who has caught his eye; Carlotta needs and wants no one, and she can become his favorite ukulele for all that I care!

I am back to the mountainous region when I hear her. I feel a pulling in my heart, a clench of fear on her behalf, and before I can name it or reject it I am flying, _rapidement_ , on tired wings towards her. Yet something grabs me by the tail and pulls me back. I land harshly on my back, spine aching from the yank.

"And where are you going in such a hurry, my feathered one?" Damn, damn, triple damn! It's _him_. The red he wears now is less bright, much darker, yes, it is the color of murder. He is drenched in it, his cape the darkest of it all. Bloody murder, Red Death.  
"Y-you! Sire!" I quickly pull myself into a bow. I am afraid of him, he is terrible and powerful and in his shadow or light, I am nothing. "I- I lost the girl, she is very slippery, you see, but I hear her now, and I am to take her back!" He looks most unimpressed. The magic mask moves like a face, so the eyebrows pull back in disbelief.

"I see." He's only playing along, I know he suspects me, but of what? Betrayal? I am not so stupid. "For a moment there looked to be some kind of fondness in your rush to her. Such a pitiful display of emotions would be most, ah… unbecoming." His voice is like thundering water; simple and deceptive but powerful, so powerful. A person could drown in his voice..

"Me? Fondness for anyone but you or myself? How darling an idea, my lord, but no, no, to betray you so? Aha, I am no fool! I take her back!" I assure, cowering, hiding behind a silly smile. Off in the distance the girl cries out again. She sounds most unhappy. I almost want to whine for wasted time.

"No. You don't take her back anymore." Red Death intercedes, mocking my speech. He leans coolly against a rock face, almost appearing deep in thought.

"Then what do you want I should do?" I am genuinely curious. Does he mean to hurt her, or have _me_ hurt her? Could I bring myself to do it?

"You will give her this." He summons a crystal ball in his wicked fingers, then with a mystic wave of his hand it is an apple- a very large, golden yellow and red apple. He delicately hands it to me, a single, knobby hand placing it softly in my own. It is large enough in my hands that I cannot wrap my longest fingers around it to touch.

"What is it?"

"A test. A present. None of your concern, _Carlittle_." He hisses a butchering of my name, and I shrink a little under the weight of his gaze.

"It.. it will not hurt her?" I ask, unsure myself why I care so much. He rises up, looming over me. He is furious that I dare defy him, dare to question his motives.

"I would _never_ harm her." He kneels down so he is my own height, and somehow this is more frightening. "Now: why are you so concerned? She's mine, no matter what she called _you_."

"She called me friend… I do not wish to hurt her." I whisper, the words forcing themselves out my throat. Air seems to come slow to me, each breath painful and exhausting but gone too quickly.

"And hurt her you will not, especially not in my name or if you value existing in flesh and feathered form. But you will deliver this gift to my Christine, or I will make a golden harp of you, harpy, and I will let the Cleaners play with you. Are we understood? She may be your friend, but you are not hers. You will do _my_ bidding, or you will come to regret it. Yes?"

He is like a mountain in the form of a man; I shake at his feet even as he meets my eyes. I look at the apple. The ground feels loose underneath my feet, the air itself seems to shake me and I almost wish that a tear in the earth would open up and take me away from this moment, this decision. I feel sick.

"Yes."

"Then fly along, and play 'friend' with her until a time is right. _Do not fail me_." He growls, teeth bare as mask and lip draw back. Then he pulls away and is gone into the mountain, and I am left with a beautiful, poisonous apple, and a wicked, guilty heart.

Christine calls again, and I waste no more time. I am coming to you, Christine. I am coming.

~{(Christine)}~

I run through this new part of the labyrinth, the panic of losing both Raoul and Carlotta making my vision and rational thought blurry. The terrain turns to forest, mulch underfoot, which I only know because I seem to have lost my shoes in my hurry. I feel like I'm falling apart, like the world around me is collapsing and there is nothing I can do but run.

I stumble into a clearing, dazed, the world finally seeming to slow down. I slowly stand up, the cool, damp ground feeling nice on the scratches of my palms. Though I know this is just another part of the labyrinth, this forest feels deep, evoking a primal wildness that scares me. I feel small, and I don't like it.

There is a strange music that calls from deeper in, and I decide to follow it. Music has a source, after all, and more often than not it's people. I've gotten this far with help, so maybe these people can help me find Raoul? Or at least point me in the right direction. I'd like to find Raoul before continuing, but I'm running out of time, I can feel it.

I am unsurprised to find the source of the music is indeed a collection of people, however, I am quite bewildered when I see them performing what constitutes as dancing. They are graceful, thin creatures, birdlike and hauntingly childish as well. They look like.. alien ballerinas, wiry, loose feathers spreading out from their hips like tutus. Even their voices make me think of Meg's ballet troupe, young and feminine.

Despite their high energy dancing, which consists of no less than articulately _removing their limbs_ , they seem to lazily notice my presence. Still, they flock around me, their conversation, muddled though it is, seems to turn to invitation. Me? Join them?

"Come on, girly, we're out to have a good time!" One of them says, clutching me by the shoulders, far too enthusiastic. I vaguely see another clap her hands together, creating a fire in a pit that definitely wasn't there before. The main one, the one holding me, starts to swing her hips to a new rising song and I realize with dread she's going to sing.

" _Don't got no problems,"_ She starts, her companions echoing her, " _Don't got no suitcase. Ain't got no clothes to worry 'bout, ain't got no real estate."_ She pulls me in a spin around their circle, her delicate frame far too effective in turning me to a marionette.

" _Or jewelry or gold mines to hang me up!"_ Another tacks on, far too fast, the tune of the words lost over top the tune of the music.

" _I just throw in my hand,"_ I watch in horror as the first one pulls off her hand at the wrist, turning it around like she's showing off a prized possession, " _With the chilliest bunch in the land. They don't look much-"_ She throws her hand into the fire- only to flick her arm and have it reappear, as if she'd never removed it.

" _But we're sure chilly chilly."_ Another one grabs me by the wrists, grinding her hips on mine, her face much too close to mine.

" _But they're positively 'glow glow'!"_ The first one takes over again, tearing me, almost thankfully, away from the grinding one.

" _Chilly down with the wild gang! Think small with the wild gang! Bad hep with the wild gang!"_ They collectively sing what must be the chorus, dancing around me in a chaotic circle, pulling themselves and each other apart artfully.

" _When your thing gets wild, chilly down, chilly down with the wild gang!"_ The main one sings again, spinning me around again. Too fast, too harsh, everything they say after that is lost in dizziness. All I'm aware of is a jumble of discordant sound and their hands, oh their hands, all over me. They grab me, pull me, turn and twist me around, too close and too familiar for my liking. I hate close contact, I hate being touched, especially by strangers, and it sets my skin to crawling.

"No, no, please stop-" I try to ask them but they only sing louder and 'dance' harder. I start to panic again, pulling away, but they hold me tighter, and I scream, pushing them away.

The sound pierces through their music, finally cutting through the toxic melody that pervaded the very forest. In the quiet that follow, they draw back, afraid and angry both, and I run.

Their ensuing shouts are a mess, but their tone leaves no room for doubt. I 'ruined' their fun, and now they're out for blood. Or something. Somehow they're not physically threatening, but they make me uncomfortable all the same. They chase me through the woods, and I make a significant lead on them until I hit a wall.

Not literally, thankfully, but I'm trapped, the forest suddenly too dense on either side for me to skirt the wall. I can't go back the way I came, there's only one path which the dancers are coming down.

"Oh, no, no, no!" I shout, frustrated. I bang my palms on the stone wall, but there's nothing weak or hidden about it. It's solid, and I'm stuck.

"Up here!" A familiar voice calls from above. Before I can look or respond, a rope drops down on my head. "Climb, girl, climb!" It's Carlotta! Without hesitation, I take hold and start to shimmy up the rope, strangely happy to have had a gym class these last few years in high school.

The dancers finally reach the wall when I'm half way up, their shouts of annoyance and disappointment echoing mutedly upwards. I grin, just a little, at having outfoxed them, though once again my success is only at the hands of someone else. Still, I'm not upset to have been helped, that would be stupid. Instead, I feel relief when I finally see Carlotta's face over the wall, and I nearly vault over its edge to hug her.

"Oh, Carlotta, thank you!" I can hear the unintended extra emotion in my voice, something like desperation, but I don't care. I squeeze her tightly, grateful to have one friend back. Except she pulls away, her smaller limbs extraordinarily strong. I try to let go but my shirt sleeve gets caught on a wing, and in her efforts to disengage the embrace, she pulls backwards over the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The wall is a hill on the other side, but while it means we don't meet an immediate, back-breaking death, the tumble is still unpleasant. It is hard stone and dirt, and I can feel each protrusion we cross leaving marks on my clothes and soft body. Subconsciously, I hold onto Carlotta to protect her smaller body from harm, but I'm not sure what good it does in the end. We finally near the end of the slope, and this time there is no doubt that the hill ends in a cliff. I dig my heels into the ground, my bare feet getting torn and scratched by abrasive rocks and dirt.

We almost veer over the edge, but I manage to grab hold of a root or a tree, and though it jars my shoulder, we stop just before we fall into nothingness.

I huff and puff, the adrenaline of the fall making me dizzy. I think I'm hungry, or tired, or both, because it takes far too long for the dizziness to fade than it should. I want to ask Carlotta if she's okay, but my throat refuses to comply. So I sit there, feet just over the edge of a fault, Carlotta pressed between me and one arm, the other clutching that sapling with a mild tremor.

"Why would you do a thing like _that?_ " Carlotta shrieks after a moment, pushing herself out of my grip. I nearly forget she has wings, but as she hovers just above me, I realize that, she, at least, is safe. I sigh, heaving a little.

"I- I'm sorry. I missed you, an-and then you saved me and- and I missed you." I sputter, suddenly emotional. I sit up, edging away from the fault.

"Missed me? _Missed me_?! For what reason on Phantom's grey and miserable earth could you have missed _me_?" She continues to shriek. She's genuinely upset, almost angry about this. I don't understand. I don't know how to respond.

"You're my friend.." I say, and it feels both definitive and powerful and pathetic and childish. She huffs, grimacing.

"I am not! I am _obliged_ to help you, nothing more! Now, get up!" She protests, pulling me by the back of my shirt to my feet. With her support, I don't even stumble. "Walk, walk this way." She guides, pushing me along the edge. She seems colder than before, silently determined in some way.

"Where are we?" I numbly ask as she pushes me against the rising slope of the hill, acting as a counterbalance.

"This is the Infinite Pit. Falling in means no escape. It is literally falling forever and ever.. No one likes it here." Again, she's cold and short, trying to be un-emotive but only managing irritation, but it's so.. unlike her. She's like a spark, like fire, nothing about her is anything but passionate and full. Except, well, now.

"Well, I can see why if it means falling forever."

"Shush, keep walking." She prods, and I fall silent. She's obviously getting tired, though, for by the time we reach a flatter landscape, the fault never far, though, her flying is a cycle of sinking for several moments then struggling to rise back to my shoulder height. It would seem that her wings are not built for continuous flying, and yet, because of me, that's all she's been doing today. When we reach a higher platform with space for both of us, the rocks becoming a small tower over the Pit, I pull her out of the air and sit her down, silently commanding her to rest. I take the moment to get my aching feet out of the dirt and stones as well. Everything aches.

"Ai, your feet!" Carlotta exclaims as I sit down. Her face is a twist of disgust and sympathy. I inspect them myself. They're not good; they're a bit bloodied and already bruises are forming. My hands aren't much better. I'm sure I look horrible.

"I'm fine. We've still got a way to go, and if this is the worst, then I can make it." I try to smile, but I feel so achingly tired. I think… I think it's been seven hours. And, given the three that Erik took away, I only have another three to reach the castle. Behind us, it's much closer, but still so far. Now it takes up a fourth of the sky when you face it, it's size becoming more and more clear. It's enormous.. But I have so little time left, and it looks like the landscape goes around it, the Infinite Pit tracing the city's outline with a nearly vertical rise on the inside edge, making getting back into the labyrinth proper a hard venture. If Carlotta were bigger, she might be able to fly us both back in, but she's too tired as it is to fly even herself in.

"I'm glad you came back." I say, thoughtlessly. The moment was too quiet, and too anxious. Carlotta looks at me strangely, like she's already decided that what I'm about to say isn't worth her time, and yet she's eager to hear it anyway. "You.. You don't have to pretend to be so.. hard. You came back to help me- for whatever reason. I choose to interpret it as you being my friend."

"I came back because I had to." She says, but offers nothing else for a moment. "I have to give- I have to give you-" She seems to break, not wanting to say whatever it is. Is this the source of her discomfort? Whatever it is, I want to undo it- go back even to almost hurtful banter if I have to.

"Give me what?" At that moment, a trapdoor opens up underneath us, and we are plunged into a tunnel that winds and turns impossibly. I am sure that at some points we were falling up or sideways or even in reverse, and nothing made sense.

But thankfully it eventually spits us out, a long and bumpy time later, dumping us somewhere closer to the castle, and on top of something enormous and fluffy. All three of us groan from the impact, and it is that familiar whine that can only be Raoul coming from the fluffy thing, and with a gasp of joy I flop myself over and off of him, to give him a hug. He's much more receptive to this hug than Carlotta was, in fact he lifts me up and spins me around, his lanky arms covering me entirely.

"Raoul!" I say in delight.

"Christine!" He purrs, literally. "I lost you!"

"No, I'm afraid _I_ lost _you_! I should have taken your concerns more seriously, I'm so sorry." I apologize, but Raoul only shakes his head. A cough from behind me reminds me that Carlotta is here. Raoul lets me go, dropping to his hands, immediately on the defensive. Carlotta has a full 'sass' pose out, hands on her hips with a scowl on her face, obviously curious and maybe even jealous of Raoul. She certainly doesn't feel threatened by him, though, even as he hunches down in preparation for an attack. I understand he may be distrustful, considering the way I found him, so I put a hand on his shoulder. He calms considerably.

"Carlotta, this is Raoul! He was making that horrible noise when.. when you left earlier. Raoul, this is Carlotta, she's my other friend, she helped me after I lost you!" I introduce them. Raoul sniffs at Carlotta with interest, but more or less shrugs at her existence. He is pacified, I suppose.

"Raoul." He says, putting out a hand. She scoffs, nudging his hand away. He whines but lets his hand drop anyway.

"We had better carry on." She says, striding off. I shrug to Raoul and follow her. I would follow her anywhere; I feel now as though she is trustworthy beyond words. The way she's kept coming back for me, despite her fears or insecurities, has made me feel as though she is definitely on my side. I trust her.

She is upset, though. I hear her muttering ahead of us, but only the word 'friend' is clear to me. I decide not to ask. Sometimes it's best to let someone vent instead of try to control their emotions by interfering.

The path is clearer here, almost marked out with smoother rock outlines, and we follow it over the Pit and stony hills and through small valleys. The landscape is tumultuous, grey and misty and ill defined. It's like a less artistic rendering of the Grand Canyon in smaller scale, and much dimmer, and somehow, I'm sure, much dustier.

All the time, the castle is getting closer and closer. I can see the difference in light there, and it aches how close we are. I want to be done with this adventure, my friends and I safe and able to rest and confident that there are no more threats or riddles or having to be clever…

My internal musings are interrupted when Carlotta points out a bridge. It's rickety, made of wood and rope bindings, whereas previous ones were natural rock-forms that continued the path. This difference must mean _something_ , but the only way to know is to approach, so I do, Carlotta and Raoul to either side. I feel brave with them. Why is it easier to be brave with or for other people, rather than myself?

As we draw near, nothing happens. I look around curiously, but nothing and no one presents itself. Carlotta is just as mistrusting of this place, though it would appear that she's not actually familiar with this part. I place my hand on a post, ready to test it, but something comes out of nowhere and whacks my hand away.

"Ow!" I can't help but blurt, my hand already hurting from earlier adventures. I certainly don't need any more injuries, but the redness and stinging across the back of my hand are proof that the labyrinth doesn't think so. Raoul bristles visibly, and Carlotta puffs up as well. I look away from my stinging hand and find a dog man standing on the bridge where he hadn't been before. "Who-?"  
"No one may pass over this bridge without my permission." He growls, his one eye harsh and dark. He's got long, stringy-furred ears, making his threatening stance seem a little more comical. Nevertheless, he's standing firm, teeth ever so slightly bared at us.

"I- I'm sorry, we need to pass, I didn't mean to-" He barks, cutting me off.

"None may pass without my permission." He reiterates, each word emphasized. I bite my lip. To my right, Carlotta growls.

"Permit this!" She says as she darts forward, squirrel-like. The man dog- dog man?- pokes and swings his wooden sword at her, but she neatly dodges everything, until at last she passes him, flying the rest of the way to the other side and safety. He doesn't stop though, he strides forward angrily, intent to bring her back, but Raoul pounds his fists on the ground and charges.

I try to call to wait, that surely there's a better way, but before I can make myself heard, they're engaging in a clumsy, strange swordplay, wherein Raoul is, himself, a sword. He swings his heavy arms as swiftly and almost as deftly as the man can do with his sword.

The man, barely my height, is surprisingly strong if the _thwack_ of his wooden sword against Raoul is anything to go by, and even more surprisingly agile given that one eye is presumably missing under the eye patch he wears. I am still more anxious about the bridge, which creaks under Raoul's impressive weight, and shakes with each step he and the guard dog take.

I fail to notice how Raoul has advanced until he's very nearly over the bridge. I see Carlotta calling to me from the other side, but I can't hear her over their scuffle. I'm too anxious about the weight the bridge is supporting to try to cross, and it's not like there's a lot of room with Raoul and the man both at the end, engaged in a fight that takes up the entire width. Then, just as suddenly as Raoul seemed to have taken the bridge, the man has taken it back, and Raoul is stumbling backwards onto the dusty ground beside me.

Both huff, breaths heavy, the man pointing his sword, with it's heavy ball on the end, at Raoul, who lies tired on the ground. Then, he's laughing. I help Raoul to his feet as the man explains.

"You are the most of a match I have met in a few decades, good sir! I shall grace you with my name and my brotherhood for this most _engaging_ brawl worthy of us both, I think." He tucks his sword into a clasp at his side, and then bows deeply. "I am Nadir Khan, The Saluki Daroga of the Bridge, though you may call me Nadir. What is the name of my brother in arms and skill, and his lovely companions?" Confused, Raoul tips his head, looking between Nadir and me for a moment. But Nadir's smile is unwavering, so Raoul dips his head.

"Raoul." He says with a hand gesturing towards his heart. Then he dips his head to me, "Miss Christine." With a jerk of his head towards the other side, he laughs, "Carlotta."

"Then I dub you 'Sir Raoul'. Well met, young one." Nadir nods to him, another small bow of strangely earned respect. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Christine." He says softly, taking my hand like I'm some lady at court.  
"Ah, just 'Christine' is fine, thank you."

"And you may call me nothing!" Carlotta yells from the other side. Nadir growls at her.

"Wait, sir!" He turns back to me quickly, attentive and genuinely invested in whatever I'm about to say, which surprises me. He's… strangely friendly. Noble, in a way. "Can we pass now? I'm sorry, but we're in an awful hurry to.. to get to the castle and… uh.." I struggle for a moment. What are we doing, again? We're going to the castle, but why? Something important, I know that much.

"Your memories!" Carlotta supplies. With a snap, I remember. The memories of my father and his violin, of course! How can I keep forgetting? Shame at having wished these things away in the first place washes over me, enhanced by the knowledge that I've forgotten _again_.

"Yes, important memories that I accidentally gave to Erik, er, the Phantom. And my dad's violin. It's very important." I explain. He nods, but it's sad.

"I understand, but I cannot let you pass." He seems truly regretful.

"Well, why? Maybe we can be clever about this."

"Long ago, I was in the Phantom's court. We were almost friends but we had a.. a falling out, and he cursed me to guard this bridge until the end of time. The one rule is that 'No one may pass without my permission'." He explains. I think about that for a moment.

"Those are the words? Exactly?" I ask. He nods, gravely solemn. "Then just give us your permission." I shrug. His eye shoots open, his shoulders stiffen, his nose quivers and for a moment I think he's going to shatter like porcelain, but he starts to laugh, a full and hearty sound, until it turns to almost crying.

"A fool! I am a blasted fool!" He clasps a hand over his face. "Oh, such a simple answer- was I really so dense that I could not figure this out myself? Oh, child, I give you permission to pass." He says, still torn about his failure to solve the problem, standing aside.

"Sometimes I find that being too close to a problem makes it hard to see the solution." I try to console him. He nods, laughing falsely at himself.

"I never even thought to permit people across. Phantom _implied_ that I shouldn't, but he never said I _couldn't_. Augh, what a fool I am. From now on, all are permitted to pass this bridge with my full consent." He waves his hand dismissively over the bridge, as if bidding it farewell. "And now, with _your_ permission, I will accompany you on your quest. I have business with our mutual nemesis."

"Oh- okay. What do you plan to do?" I ask. For some reason the way he says that makes me fear for Erik. What reason do I have to fear for _him_ , though? He who is by far the most powerful creature here?

"Mostly I plan to beat him upside the head with a _stick_ , but it sounds like he needs a stern talking to more than anything." Nadir says with authority, his whiskers vibrating with the clarity of his enunciating.

"Well, don't hurt him too badly." I ask. He seems confused about this but concedes with a nod.

"Let us continue, then." When I look nervously at the bridge he assures me, "This bridge has stood for a thousand years, my lady, and you just witnessed our duel on it- you will cross safely." He holds out a hand towards the bridge with a flourish, like someone holding the door open for me. I see Carlotta standing encouragingly on the other side, and I feel better with both their support. The anxiety about the bridge melts away, and I nod to myself.

"Well, okay." I start to cross, the bridge not so much as wiggling underneath. I am nearly halfway across when a terrible screeching tears through the air, the sound almost metaphysically assaulting my head. The bridge shakes, rumbles as if it's tearing itself apart, and while I am still reeling from the sound and the terrible pain it brings me, the just sturdy bridge crumbles out from under me.

The Infinite Pit seems to swallow and numb sound itself, for as I fall even the terrible scream of the violin blurs into a deafened half-version of itself. A deeper, animalistic sound comes in over it, but it's so muffled I can't guess what it is. Something grabs hold of me, but even that sensation feels distant, indistinct. I hang by the wrist, feeling blind and deaf, all my experiences nearly mute. I feel next to nothing for a while, mind dumb and blind to everything. Slowly, feeling returns, and I realize that I'm rising.

Unevenly, it starts to occur to me, because someone is carrying me. I can feel each step as it causes me to sway, belaying the struggle this person has in bearing me. When did I go from dangling by the wrist to being carried like a child? Who, even, is carrying me? I struggle to focus my vision on the face. It's.. It's Nadir! He's talking but his voice is still so muffled. As we eclipse the edge of the Pit, everything becomes clear.

"-sorry, I am so, so sorry, my lady." He says, and I get the feeling that's all he's said this whole time. "I am certain that the bridge would have held had it not been for _Erik's_ interference, for that was surely him! He has never been so powerful before.." He rumbles. A stinging in my wrist becomes apparent as he sets me down. Claw marks?

"What.. what happened?" I ask, feeling dumb.

"You were nearly halfway crossed when Erik cast some spell that made it collapse. Carlotta dove in after you, hence the injuries to your wrist, and held you long enough for Raoul to display a splendid power to control rock, forming the stairs which I sprinted down to retrieve you. It was all very quick.." He sighs. Nadir seems old, but also not at all. He takes a sash from his side and wraps it gently around my cuts. It's a dark, patterned red with gold accents, and I hope it doesn't stain.

"Where is Carlotta?"

"Still clinging to you, miss." He points to my shoulder, where, indeed, a petrified Carlotta is clinging. I hadn't even noticed her weight.

"Golly goodness.." I breathe. What more can happen in a day? "Are you okay?"

"I- Fine!" She snaps, suddenly unclenching herself from me. She shakes herself out, trying to seem nonchalant. I turn to Nadir and Raoul.

"And you two? Are you okay? I'm so sorry for the inconvenience.."

"No inconvenience at all! We're fine." Nadir pats Raoul, who nods eagerly, proud of himself. "Erik is growing far too bold with his power; he misuses it. Let's go before he performs another cruel trick." They pull me to my feet, and I brush the dirt off my legs as Raoul roars a bridge into existence.

"Wow, that.. that is amazing." I'm stunned. I look at all three of my companions. I smile widely, very glad to have met them all. "Let's go, then." I lead them across the bridge, no fear.

The path continues into the labyrinth, a grand stone gate without doors signaling the edge. The area immediately inside is more forest, but it's thin, and above the trees we can see the wall that closes off the city from the rest of the labyrinth.

"We're so close!" I exclaim. We're even closer than I'd hoped!

"Yes, a half hour's steady pace and we'll be at the gates!" Nadir says, tail wagging softly. "Come along, there's no time to lose!" He sounds enthusiastic, and I find myself much the same. It's almost over..

I almost immediately begin to lag, however. I'm tired and can't seem to keep up the pace. Nadir and Raoul decide to 'scout ahead' but I know they know I'm tired and are just giving me an opportunity to rest, or at least slow a bit. Carlotta was with me a moment ago, but she must be even more tired than I am, having saved me from the pit earlier. I'm so much bigger than her; to even slow my fall, let alone bear the entirety of my weight for even a moment! It's an extraordinary feat, I think. She must be exhausted.

I let my mind wander for a bit, following quietly behind the guys. Nadir is eagerly explaining something to Raoul, who is just as eagerly listening. Like a master and apprentice, they seem to relate to each other. What am I, then? Surely I'm not just a princess who needs rescuing by the real heroes, am I? I'm the only human here, and classically that makes me the damsel in distress, but that's not _all_ I am, right? As I begin to doubt myself, I hardly notice a softly played violin almost humming in my ear.

I get a little swept up in it, feeling quite calm and relaxed in it. I hum along mindlessly, letting feeling overtake thought.

"Christine?" I blink at the sound of my name. I turn, it's Carlotta.

"Yes?" I sound dreamy, half asleep.

"I found.. this." She holds up an apple, giant in her hands. It's nearly half the size of her head. "You should… should have it."

"Thank you." She's so thoughtful. "But what about you? I didn't thank you for the amazing thing you did earlier, I don't think I've thanked you properly all day.." It's hard to talk with the music in my ear, but I insist to myself that those words need to be spoken.

"No need to worry. I, ah, had one already." She holds it out, shaking a little.

"You should go and have some more, you're shaking. But thank you for taking care of me all day." I smile as I take the apple from her. It's red and orange and yellow, dappled cutely. I take a bite, and perfectly timed with a crescendo in the music the sweetness hits me. It literally melts into my mouth, the sweetness unnatural and flooding. I tremble as it invades the rest of me, numbing me not unlike the Infinite Pit did. I do not want to, but part of me welcomes the numbness, the ease of not having to think.

I feel heavy, like my body is made of marble. I look at my hands and they feel alien, like they're not mine, like none of this experience is mine. I look up at Carlotta as she backs away, swaying as I try to discern the meaning of this.

"Carlotta?" I mumble. "What have you done?" I feel… something. It hurts, a knife in my heart. She backs away, shaking her head gently.

"Damn Erik… and damn me too." She says to herself. What does that mean? I don't understand. She turns and runs back the way we came, back into the depths of the labyrinth.

Betrayal. I feel betrayal.

In a moment, it feels like it has been years since she's left, a haze descending on my perception of time. I turn around, the world around me slow to respond to my will, revealing itself only so little at a time, unwilling to be clear. As soon as each new part is known to me, I have forgotten what was behind me, and so the whole remains unclear and incomplete. I feel lost within a second, a single tick of a distant clock spreading out into infinity such that I can't have ever heard the preceding sound and I will never know the following.

The heaviness of my body consumes me, and I feel myself fall to my knees in painfully slow awareness of every inch of myself. I eventually collapse against a tree, dropped there like a mannequin or a doll. A moment passes like the decay of centuries, and I have become so weak I cannot so much as move my eyes anymore. My vision blurs as crystal balls and bubbles and glitter and darkness rise into view, overtaking everything.

Soon, I cannot even feel my body; I only feel some semblance of my thoughts vibrating through a dark void that sings me to sleep. Be numb, it says. Be numb and safe and happy.

I don't want to- there's something I'm trying to do. Or there was. I think? It's so hard to recall. There was something before this forever, before the singing and the darkness and the bubbles. I'm sure there was… aren't I? Aren't I sure? The singing is so sweet and understanding; do I _want_ there to have ever been anything but it? It is peace and wholeness, why would I ever require something else?

Yes, I must be mistaken. I have always existed here in this moment, with the voice and the violin and the darkness. They know me, they love me, they provide everything I could ever want, and everything I will ever need. There has never been anything else but me being here. There is nothing before or after. There is only this, and this will always be as it has always been.

I am sweetly numb, void of thought. I am pure feeling, I am a sound in a symphony that accompanies that voice. It calls to me alone, but why? Why me, out of all the beautiful sounds out there, when I am more like a tinkling bell than a voice of my own and hardly deserving of that pure expression's attention? Still, though I cannot comprehend its interest in me, I must admit that we are beautiful together. Even if I am nothing more than that tinkling bell, the contrast of my light, ringing sounds against his dark, deep, and drowning tones are ecstasy. Together we are an entire spectrum of sound and emotion, and only together are we whole.

I submit to the darkness. I fall into a sleepless dreaming so that I can only continue to be part of that marvelous sound, that divine emotion. I submit so that I can be whole and myself, sure of my own identity against his. It's only with his contrast that I know myself. It's only here that I am myself, and complete.

I know who I am here. I am everything and nothing, and there is nothing sweeter than to be exactly that, exactly here, exactly forever.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

She is beautiful. She does not know it, not really. I m sure she is humble; the way she looks at herself in the mirror each morning shows her proud, but not overtly so. I cannot help but look at her and be humbled, myself. I wish I could show her, but no visual art could hope to capture her subtleties, the nuance of what exactly makes her beautiful. It is more than just her face, her hair, it is also how she holds herself, how those sweet eyes look out on the world. No image could capture even a tenth of her.

No, but music can.

Her heart is troubled, and how I long to ease that suffering. I am the lord of music- hear how it bends to my will, to my very desires. It can sing her praises, literally, more perfectly than any other medium. More than words alone, more than portraits or sculptures, more than essays or poetry could ever describe her- music understands. I understand, and through music, I have been able to express that I do!

And now she is here, with me. For now, it is only a dream place, a pocket made of wishes and hopes that cannot be voiced, but soon they will be much more than that. She is almost asleep in the dream, so at peace with herself, _with me_ , that the world is little more than a comfortable yet formless eternity, made of smoke and bubbles and music. She does not realize it, but a majority of the music here is from her own heart, and it is beautiful. I can barely keep up on the violin, with my own voice, it is so different from my own.

But I suppose that it is in this way that I find her music beautiful, that because it is not mine, it is all the more enchanting. I have heard the songs of so many people's hearts, and they are all wicked, vile, corrupt songs that sing of their greed and envy and hatred. Not Christine. Her song is only a call for peace, and not only for herself, oh no. The sweet child asks for peace for everyone and everything, and it is a sound I have never known.

My own song is wicked, and full of longing, though I daresay it is tempered with patience and understanding of the workings of the world, if not patience for the people in it. I want to be understood, more than anything, just like her, and my song reflects this. In this way our songs fit perfectly together. We have a fundamental understanding of each other, the depth and nuances of that understanding yet to be explored, but there, definitely there.

As her song comes to a lull, a natural quiet, she seems to be dreaming within this dream more than ever. I slow the whisper of the violin and approach, wondering what she's thinking. In coming closer, I hear now that her song has only softened, not died down into silence. She is at peace here, finally away from painful memories she doesn't need with friends who cannot understand her and a quest she need not embark on. She is home, she is safe. I hear our heartsongs resonate, and it is intoxicating how _right_ it feels.

"You alone can make my song take flight…" I sing softly, unable to stop myself. For a moment I am afraid I've tampered with the songs too much, but they both dance with this new idea, blossoming out into the dream, turning it into something more, something substantial.

The world morphs into a dreamy masquerade of snow and marble, with scores of people in gowns and masks, dancing and drinking, their words a hum of nonsense. They are unimportant.

Like a dancer at the beginning of the ballet, she rises, her attire changing to fit the dream with an innocent glimmer of magic. The scene sets itself, ready to play at her will.

Christine is beautiful, and she is the only thing that is so wholly good in this, or any world. I must protect her, not only for my own sake, for I do fully believe she is the only one who can understand me on a fundamental level, as I do her, but for her sake as well. She is an angel, and the world of man will destroy her. I have seen her future, and it is wrought with strife and struggle, the greatest source of which is the loss of her family.

I cannot let such things destroy her. I will protect her. I must keep her here to do so, and I will do anything to make her stay.

Anything.

~{(Christine)}~

The perfect dream of rest and stillness changes. It was so calm, so still, and then those words changed it. They conjured up thoughts and hopes and images of things and the dream _changed_. I cannot fight it, so I must adapt, but I don't want to. I could have slept forever, perfect and one with that song. It was mine, it was _me_ , and now it's gone, changed into something new.

I don't know who I am here. Here there are others, and they dance and swirl across a crowded room, silver and glitter lining everything. I don't know who I am here. Before I was someone, I was defined, but here, here I am lost. There is no definition in the perpetual movement, in the soft hum of voices whispering lovely nonsense to each other. There is no definition, and I am lost in the crowd, like a gas in space, forever expanding and shapeless without anything to contain me. These people and this place do not define me, so who am I?

I drift through the dancing and the talking like a ghost. No one talks to me, and I like it that way. What would I say? I feel as though I am nothing, I know nothing, and there is very little that a nothing could say to something that is anything at all.

I feel.. radiant. The music is still there, in hushed undertones to the new sounds of this storybook gathering, and I do not feel so empty as the greater before, when there was no music at all, when I was a dot in a sea with nothing to cling to, but when it is so distant, I find myself yearning for it. Closer, I want it closer. Give it back.

But the dream stays here, like a movie you can't stop or walk away from. This is the scene, and I've got to play it through.

It's not so bad, I suppose. I do feel beautiful in this extravagant gown, white with all manner of silver and crystal softly decorating it. It's not so bad to feel beautiful, but I think I would still rather feel peaceful numbness, feel sleep. This dream is nice enough for now, but I will want to return eventually. I feel out of place, even though it is my own dream, and I suppose that is because of my own lack of identity, and the abundance of masked faces around me as well. There are animal and insect masks, full human face-masks, half masks, masks that are decorated only with paint, others are set with precious stones, others are covered in fanciful protrusions. They are all white, however, so as to keep with the theme. White and silver and the barest hint of grey, and no color.

I am in a fancy ball gown, also white. The dress is enormous, but it fits wonderfully. Because the gown is so large, no one should be able to see my steps, and I feel like I'm floating. My hair is pinned up, but only in a way that accentuates my natural curls, rather than trying to hide them. I feel a small weight on my head, perhaps a crown? I have a ring on the middle finger of each hand as well, silver with blue stones. I would appear to fit right in.

However, I appear to be the only one not wearing a mask here, and though I can discern this, I do not feel ashamed of it. Why should I wear a mask in my own dream, after all? I think I have worn a mask most of my life, and now I do not know how to define myself- that's why I need the dream, after all. The dream and the music. Yes, they know me, they can define me. They are all I need. They are the mask that tells me who I am now.

Where is he? Now that I walk this gala, I know there should be someone here, and he isn't. I search the faces hidden behind plaster for him, but I don't see him. I need him- why is he so distant? I can hear him, still, in that undertone of music, but as I have stated, I need him closer, I need understanding, definition. I need his contrast to know myself, and maybe, in turn, I can know him. I feel like I do, and is it bad that I want to stay that way as long as possible? To be numb but aware of myself, is that wrong? Why does he stay away?

I am almost hurt with frustration, with desperation- where _is_ he?- but when I turn he's there. He's charcoal grey in this sea of snowy gowns. His mask is black. This is definition, this is understanding. I feel his song define me, as well as it defines him, and I feel right again.

"Music." I whisper, relieved as he takes me into a dance, one hand guiding us like the bow of a mighty ship cutting gently through waves. He says nothing, his warm, golden orange eyes simply meeting my own. The sound, the marvelous sound of his heart returns, and I know myself. Though the dream stays the same, I find that peace is back. I could dance forever, because now I'm whole again.

Gently, he holds me, and though he is the 'lead', I feel as though he is letting me guide him just as much as he guides me. If I pull, he does not resist. If I stride out, so does he. We are well in tune with each other, and I feel balanced, and far more graceful than I can ever recall being on my own. Have I ever been alone before? I can't tell, but I am sure I would not like it.

I have to crane to look up at him, the ashen mask calmly emoting. He's a head taller than me, but I don't feel small. I feel equal. I feel whole.

As we twirl through the party, moving fluidly like doves amongst ducks, I rest my head against his chest. There is nothing better than to be everything and nothing in a moment of perfect harmony that will never cease.

"Christine." I hear him inhale sharply. I pull my head back. 'Christine'? What is that sound? What does it mean? In all the language of music, I have no knowledge of what this sound means. Is it a word? What use have we of meager, finite human language, when we have music? I look at him curiously, but he seems stunned. I can hear it. The peace is gone from him, he's anxious, almost _hurt_. Have I done something?

I can hear my song ask what's wrong, concern rising in me like a language of its own. His song denies it, pushes it away, says 'only you', as if his part in the song is not important. But it is! Who am I without it? What is anything without it? I don't know, can't even pretend to comprehend, and I don't want to. I don't want to go back to not knowing, and so I cling harder to him, but his song whines- it _whines_!

What's wrong, what's wrong? Oh it aches, I can feel something in him breaking? Did I do this? As much as I cling, as much as I want to know and understand, he pulls back- afraid of that which I know he wants, which is exactly what I want, too. So I let him go. He draws back into the sea of white, which, in our mutual fear and worry, turns to a snowy wasteland around us.

He disappears in the haze of falling snow only a few feet away from me. As he disappears from sight, his song disappears too, and I have never felt more alone.

In the wake of his presence, his absence is a mad curse on me. I feel myself slipping away. Who am I? Who _am_ I? I don't know, I don't know. I am cold, but it is not from the winter that's suddenly sprung up around me. Who am I when I'm alone? Who am I without contrast, without a partner to play off?

I feel sick, lost, and the winter storm around me only grows in response. A strange, creeping sensation of having felt this way begins to overtake me. No, I don't want to remember, I don't want to go back. I want to sleep, I want to rest, I want to be understood and I want nothing to be asked of me. Is that too much?

The world warps around me, snow falling in every direction at once, like a broken snow globe. I walk, numbly but in the wrong way, until a new shape emerges from the white out. My head aches, my heart reels, but I decide keep going. I do not want to remember, but if I must remember to set us right, then I will. Something has to change, and if he won't come back, then I will have to do the changing, because neither of us can live in a dream like this. The snow assaults me, but I keep going.

I must save us.

~{(Erik)}~

No, no! I ran, out of fear. She was too close, too good, and I wanted nothing more than to hold her there forever! Nothing more, nothing less than to be in that understanding glow of affection, and I ran. As good as she is, am I not wicked? I could not hurt her, could I? I have never and could never dream of harming her… And yet the fear that I would, that perhaps I already had, made me sick, made me run. In running, my grasp on that which she wished away lessened, and now she wanders through this nightmare ever closer to remembering.

I must protect her from those memories, for here they would destroy her. I send the snow harder, fiercer, to ward her away but she proceeds. I have muted my own song to protect her, but hers is still so clear to me. She carries on out of a sense of duty, and I cannot bear it. Such compassion, and for me! Me!

She draws nearer to the edge of the dream, her desire to 'fix' this giving her more and more control, weakening the very nature of this place. It is feeling and desire and want, but she wants more than it can give, more than I am willing to let her have. For her own sake, she must turn back, and yet she does not! I send winds howling at her, pushing her back, but she persists. No, no! I can feel her will against mine, and I find it impervious. She draws nearer-

~{(Christine)}~

Finally, as though a scene change, the snow dies and disappears, flakes fading out of existence before even striking the ground. The air is tense, but I continue. Finally, it is revealed.

The shape is a grave, a headstone with flowers as fresh as if they were just picked and placed there. There is grass around it, and were it not for my own feet still crunching the snow, I might have sworn it was spring. My head hurts, beats a little harder, and I find myself anxious. But this, whatever it is, is the problem, or part of it. Or perhaps it is the solution? I'm not sure, but I know that I must do _something_ , and this seems to be the only thing to do. I approach hesitantly.

The black granite grave shines with fresh polish, and the grass on top is still loose. It would appear that it was just dug. A small figure kneels, I now see, or perhaps she just appeared? She's crying.

Something in my own mind asks me to turn back, but I know I can't, not now. It's not even about Music anymore. True, I still want to help him, but suddenly he is not the center of my drive. It's about me. Me?

I forgot I was a person on my own- I still feel… strange, being on my own, but I remember. At least, I'm starting to. I _feel_ as if I have known this sensation before, but it's hard to remember anything beyond the immediate past. It's returning, slowly. Myself, my identity. It's hard, but I _am_ a person on my own, have been before this moment, I know I know how to be my own person. I still think that _who_ I am is a bit muddled, but is that not just the age I am? Yes, I'm young, aren't I? I'm still growing, still _becoming_ myself, so it's surely not so strange to not yet know myself entirely.

The figure turns. I gasp, because it's me.

I remember, I remember!

The faded, ghostly double of myself seems to freeze like a statue, a portrait of a time that has passed. I don't want to, but I force myself to read the name on the grave, to confirm what I think I remember.

The name on the grave is Daae. Gustave Daae. My father.

I fall to my knees, softly in the snow, crying out of recalling his loss. Years of my youth return to me at once, making the sting of absence all the worse. I'm not sure how to move on from this, and yet…

The world shifts around me, the grave being swept away like ink in water, and I am standing in front of a mirror. The me in the mirror looks lost, pathetic. I look beautiful, maybe even haunting in a way, the kind of ethereal 'perfect' beauty you see in magazines or movies, but in those eyes, I am lost. I am a shadow, not quite a person, not quite real on my own. I look physically _wrong_ without someone next to me. Is that me? Is that who I am? This whole time I've been wondering if I was an archetype in a story but was I asking the right question? Maybe I should have been asking if I knew myself at all, because this doesn't look like the person I want to be, the person I thought I actually was. This, this is a misconstrued _glimpse_ of me, and yet..

"Is this really me?" Am I really… so dependent? It's true that I will always miss my father, but do I need him to function? I've been acting like I do! This trick mirror seems to think I do! But.. just like a moment ago, I remember that I am my own person, I am independent of him, always have been, that's what children _are_. My life did not end because his did, and though I may not enjoy that he is gone, why have I thought that I must stop living because he has? He was my inspiration to live, and live happily; he would despair if he knew that I let him inspire anything else!

The mirror image changes, and the party gown is stripped away, revealing my normal wear- hair down, makeup gone, pants and shirt and vest all returned. Yes, this is me! I'm still growing, I'll make mistakes, and I'll have to learn who I am in a world without my father, but I'll be fine! I am…

I am Christine!

My name, at last, returns to me as well, and I feel complete, as real as I've ever been. It feels wonderful, to reaffirm your identity, and despite the heartache, I feel a little stronger too. And then I remember everything else. Everything that led to this- the wish, the deal, the quest, and…

.. and Erik.

He appears behind the mirror like a ghost, his image half dark behind mine. I put my hand on the glass, which ripples like water. With the expression on his magic mask, a lost, hurt, desperate expression, I know that he knows I remember everything. What now, is the question in both our minds. Damn the labyrinth- I've somehow undone the wish. So how do we proceed? What game are we playing if the rules of the old one no longer apply?

Shaking, one of his hands drifts to shadow mine on the other side of the glass. His fingers are so spindly, so long and fragile looking. His golden orange eyes look familiarly pained, mouth parted ever so slightly, like he wants to say something but can't find the right way to express himself. He looks so tired, so exhausted from things I'll never know. I suddenly understand why it is a mirror that separates us. He is just like me. He doesn't know who he is on his own, only in reaction with other people. He feels broken unless there's someone to define himself against. In this way, he sees himself in me. He understands my pain because it's his as well, or something close enough. And so he chose me to be, what? His perfect opposite? It's true that I understand him, somehow, in ways I did not and still do not completely know, but what does he _want_ from me? What is my function within this purpose, that is, how does he think I'm supposed to go about doing it? Stay here? With him? With someone who, though is much like myself, is still a stranger? Why not just ask me? Why not do anything other than what he did? I don't understand his choice to play a game when we could have.. talked.

My eyes drift down from the hand on the glass to the one at his side- the one that holds my violin. I shoot my gaze immediately back at him, staring him in the eyes. I want it back. Above all else, that violin is my father's last earthly possession, and rightfully mine, wish be damned.

My expression must change, for his does as well. He recoils- fear, anxiety. He grips the violin a little more firmly, taking his hand back. I press my other hand against the glass. _I want it back_ , I want to scream. With my approach, he retreats. His face, that is, the mask which acts as a face, hardens to a steely, determined, yet bitter look. He holds the violin to his chest.

He means to keep it, and me, here forever.

I glare at him. It is to be war, then? He glares back, essentially answering 'yes'. I press against the glass.

Let it be war, then. I know who I am now, a little better than before. I am Christine Daae, daughter of Gustave Daae, and I am defiant. I am not my father, but I am what he raised. I am kind, but not complacent or compliant. I am helpful, but not a tool for others' happiness only. I am understanding, but not an enabler. I am not a mirror, I am not a doll who needs to have her life decided for her or without her consent, and I am not a solution to someone else's problems. I am a person, and I will decide for myself what I do with my life from here on forward, and I have decided that I _will_ leave this labyrinth with my violin.

I step back from the glass. I will win this war.

"Erik." His name tastes like iron. He raises his head, his breathing harsh.

"Yes, Christine?" He hisses my name, and I am not sure if it is in anger or disappointment, and I certainly don't know who or what either is directed at.

"I will solve the labyrinth." I declare, and as he growls and then roars, yelling wordlessly on the other side, the glass shatters, and then the dream. I feel myself falling, physically, but for once I am unafraid. I didn't realize before how nervous I was, until now, when I feel only confidence at the task ahead of me.

It's more like waking up than landing, but I know what happened, or, I know what it felt like. I push myself up from the ground, a new wasteland of forgotten memories in the form of toys and trinkets spread for miles around. However, it appears to be the backyard of the city, for I am closer than ever. Shaking on uneven piles of priceless personal treasures turned junk, I rise up. The sun, which had not moved all day from its place low in the sky, is high, and burning a strange, almost electric orange, staining the sky a blood red. The clouds are dark, full of turmoil. I can feel his anger in the air.

Well, I hope he can feel mine, because I'm coming for him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I sit on the edge of the city wall. I've been in such a state since I did it, since I gave Christine the apple. I could not bear to watch the consequences, so I ran away. Such a coward am I! My heart aches at what I've done- it twists in my chest in such an awful way that I feel short of breath and close to fainting. And yet I remain wide awake, suffering under the burden of my wicked betrayal. And suffer I do, willingly, for I know I deserve all the guilt and anguish for what I've done.

The worst is knowing that, since I chose to ran, I do not know exactly what I've done to her. Phantom could have lied to me, everyone knows he is a liar, he could have had every intention of hurting her, _poisoning_ her, _killing_ her, and now he may have done it, and with _my_ help! Oh what a weak and spineless fool I am!

I am hardly in control of myself since then, I sometimes fall into thoughtlessness, guilt overtaking me and making me blankminded, and when I come out I am rocking on the wall and there are tears on my face. What have I done, what have I done? I don't know exactly, and that is the worst.

But the look on her face, when she knew something was wrong! How the light in her eyes clouded and died when she realized! Such sorrow, so much confusion! She trusted me, could hardly believe that I had done something to betray that trust, but I did and she knew it! I am the worst creature on this miserable earth, I know it, for I have done the worst thing anyone could ever do. I betrayed someone, the only one, who had ever put their faith in me! No, worse than that!

"What have I done?" I whine, openly crying this time. I have no honor, no dignity, so what should I care if I am seen or heard crying? "What have I done?" I keen. I can only wonder at the agony she may be in; when I hurt this much from having done it, how much is she in for receiving it? Is she even alive? What would be worse, death or torture? It drives me mad, these questions, the not knowing. I bury my face in my hands, sobbing relentlessly.

"I have lost the only friend I've ever had… That's what I've done.." I moan in answer of my own question. "Christine.." Her name is like an admission, a confession, and I confess, over and over and over…

If only I could do something to make it right, I would. If only, if only..

~{(Christine)}~

I trudge dutifully through the junkyard, determined, almost too eager and happy to be doing so. I finally feel dedicated _and_ confident, where before I was one or the other, never both at the same time, and the combination is a little giddying. I trip, a lot, but it only adds to the emotion. I can take any tumble, collapse any structure, do anything! I am invincible, so long as I persevere!

I finally reach the edge of the junkyard, a great hill of trash sloping down to a dually gated section of the wall. I slide, less than gracefully, down the hill, managing to keep upright until just the end, where something unwilling to give way catches me, and sends me rolling. I'll have a new motley of bruises, but no matter! My hands and feet are still scuffed from before, but I can overcome them! I feel like I can do anything! As I rise, laughing from the fall, I hear two voices call me from my left. A bark and a howl, specifically, make me lift my head their way, and I am most delighted to see Nadir and Raoul both running my way.

I nearly start crying with joy, so I take off running towards them instead. Nadir, slighter than Raoul, reaches me first, pulling me into a deep hug, which I eagerly embrace. Raoul, when he reaches us, picks us both up with the truest bear hug I've ever felt, twirling us around. I laugh, so happy to see them again.

"My lady, my lady, are you alright? We lost track of you and I could not detect you anywhere we searched and now you're here, quite a distance away!" Nadir asks, patting me all over, inspecting me. I laugh at his earnest concern, mirrored by Raoul who sniffs me all over, whining lightly. I hush them both.

"I'm fine, I'm fine! I- I got a little lost, you could say, but I know my way a lot better now." I nod. Raoul purrs, relieved.

"What happened?" He asks.

"I.. Erik tricked me into.. something. I'm not sure exactly what it was, but I got my memories back."  
"You did? You bested Phantom?" Nadir is stunned.

"Kind of. I think I scared him, and that made it easier to get back my memories, and I did that entirely on accident anyway."  
"Is your quest complete, then?"

"No. He still has my violin, and it's now a matter of pride that I get it back. You've both done so much for me, and I couldn't ask any more of you, but I've got to continue, and quickly." I pat them both on their shoulders, but Nadir and Raoul both stop me, each holding onto a wrist, pulling me back. I look, confused, between the two of them. "I've got to keep going-"

"We'll go with you." Raoul nods affirmatively.

"It'll be dangerous, I can't-" I try to argue, for their sake. I really have asked too much of people who owe me nothing, who's kindness has been the only reason I've gotten to this point. I've got to repay them by keeping them safe, by letting them go, and I've got to stand on my own. But Nadir silences me.

"No more dangerous than it ever is, here in the labyrinth. And if you, valiant lady, are willing to partake the dangers inside, why shouldn't we? _And_ I still have words to trade with our Phantom." Nadir interrupts. "We're coming with you." Finally I start to cry. Soft, little happy tears crawl out, and I bring them in for another hug. It's strange how both of them have tails to wag and how eager they are to wag them, but I love them. I hold them tight, and despite the short time I've known them, I know I will treasure them forever. I pull back from the hug, tears already dry, and smile at them.

"Then let's go." I take them each by the hand and head for the first gate, which opens before us like the maw of a cave. This is where the truer tests lie, for I do think that Erik never expected me or anyone to get this far, and so what challenges lie ahead will be a knee-jerk reaction of upped difficulty and preposterousness. But I can do this, _we_ can do this!

As we enter, the sounds of the city become nonexistent. While they were a dull, unclear set of noise, they were like the birds in a forest- a sign of life and safety. With them gone, a sense of dread begins to permeate. Nadir draws his wooden sword, and then with a flick of a well-hidden switch, removes the wood, revealing a real sword inside. He doesn't explain the purpose of this sheath turned shell, but there's no point and no time.

The doors draw quickly behind us, slamming shut with a deep metallic thud. I jump a little at the sound, but I hold no regrets and I am not afraid. Not yet. The gate ahead of us is still open and I slowly approach it, wondering why they mean to cage us in one way and not the other. About twenty steps away, it slams shut, but these door, when sealed, become a giant mobile suit. It bears an axe that is easily three times Raoul's impressive height, and likely several tons. It pivots on its hips, swinging the axe around.

Nadir tackles me to the ground as it swings the axe low, just where our heads were. Quickly, it changes the nature of the swing, and it comes bearing down at us. We roll out of the way, separating. Raoul charges at the behemoth, and it jostles, losing the neat curve of momentum in its swing, but it stomps, shaking him off. I'm not sure what to do- I have no weapon or powers of my own, but I can't just _dodge_ it while the others do _something useful!_

As I retreat from a set of stomps and swings, a field of pole arms pop up behind me, and I very nearly impale myself on them. I twist, ducking below their angled ends and only barely managing to avoid their points, the axe scraping the tops of some of the longer ones above me. All in all, it was a very close call. I notice, while I'm down there, they're very poorly attached to their bases, and so I grab one and yank, the end popping out after a few tugs. Then I pull out another and another.

The behemoth is trying to hit Nadir and Raoul, and only barely failing. It's fast for something so large, and they are only barely faster. Still, that's well enough for my plan, and I approach carefully but quickly. I stab the heaviest spear into the back of it's knee, piercing some kind of tubing that hisses and getting lodged in the pivot that operates the joint. It tries to step and manages only to drag its foot. It's 'head' looks over it's shoulder, supposedly spying me and the spear. It presses that foot into the ground, rooting itself. Then it turns at the hip, the torso coming around to face me. I take the other two spears and dodge to the left as it swings the axe down.

'Chopping wood', I hear some gym teacher reprimand me during baseball when I swung the wrong way. I laugh at the memory, it's so out of place, and wildly incomparable to the situation at hand.

As the behemoth starts to pull the axe from the ground, the scraping causing sparks, I stab another spear in the joint of its elbow, and it creaks, its progress slowed, but not stopped. I thrust the last spear into another part of its joint, something hissing as I stab it. I feel it lodge, the spear firmly affixed, the gears grinding against the foreign metal. With both spears stuck, the arm is rendered stiff, and it starts to shake from effort. It seems to scream angrily, the machinery inside struggling.

It starts to turn at its hip again, the hand of the frozen arm turning the axe so that it's like the blade of a blender, edge out and perfect for dicing. It starts to spin faster and faster, but it can't walk, its leg is still stiff. Nadir and Raoul join me on this side of it, stepping out of it's range, but as we do, unsure what to do next, the spears behind us start popping out in rows, growing out, forcing us back into the path of the axe. I start to pull at the spears like before, but these must be different, because they stay firmly in place. I'm getting ready to do something dumb and desperate like leaping onto the arm when a small, ginger blur comes dashing down the inner wall, launching itself at the head of the behemoth, even as it spins.

It slows as the shape tears at the head, pulling off panels and ripping out wires. As it slows to a halt, the still mobile arm reaching up to grab at its assailant, we can see it's Carlotta. Carlotta! She looks like a little ginger Valkyrie, furious and vengeful, tearing the machine apart with surprising ease. Eventually, she reaches in and pulls out a tiny gremlin, throwing him to the feet of the behemoth, and he scampers off, screaming. The arm, however, keeps twitchingly grabbing at its head, and the rest of it starts to shudder terribly. I hear ticking and whirring and grinding, all growing ever louder.

"Carlotta, get out!" I shout, and she immediately pulls back, as sparks begin to grow out from under the metal skin of the machine. She leaps away as it explodes, the machine falling forward. Nadir, Raoul, and I dash out of its way, and it crashes with a second, smaller explosion onto the spears that previously threatened us. We rest against the wall as it burns, a little surprised. Raoul rumbles with what I think is a chuckle. I join him in laughter, and Nadir sighs with content relief. Carlotta lands a little harshly in front of us, stumbling.

I dash over to her side, worried, despite everything. She sees me coming and tries to back away but falls. She's exhausted and shaken from the explosions, I can see.

"Let me explain!" She says sharply before I can reach to help her up. "I'm no looking for anything to be forgiven, I am no interested in being 'friends', I-" She huffs. "Phantom made me give you the apple but I did not want to _but_ I am a coward and I did anyway! I don't care what you think- I could see no other way, and, and I am ashamed for having done it!" She squeaks. She's very torn up about this, I can see it in the redness of her eyes, the way her cheeks are clean and shiny in the firelight, how her brows clench despite saying she doesn't care, the gentle shake of her whole body. I gently put a hand on her shoulder.

"Carlotta." She looks at me, eyes wide, pointed ears down. "I forgive you." I offer a small smile.

"You do?" She's stunned. I nod.

"You came back. I think a real coward would never face up to what they've done.. they wouldn't admit they were wrong or apologize for it.. You came back."

"I am a little impressed, myself." Nadir adds. "It is a hard thing to defy Phantom. You've overcome a lot to make this decision." He points his sword at the fallen behemoth, its armor melting from the heat of the fire.

"I.. I suppose. But I did betray you all, do you not care?" She asks, shrinking again.

"I admit that I was hurt, but we wouldn't be friends if I didn't give you a second chance, especially after admitting all that. We're still friends, if you want to be, Carlotta." I stand, brushing off my jeans. Then I offer her my hand, hoping she'll take it. Nadir and Raoul stand beside me, and Carlotta looks up at the three of us, mystified. For the first time, I see her smile, a crookedly cute smile, and she takes my hand, letting me pull her to her taloned feet.

"Yes, I would."

"Good." I smile back, and any doubts I may have had about her loyalty or determination melt away. I pull her up to my side, and she hooks onto my waist with a familiar ease. Despite only having known her today, it isn't uncomfortable to have her close, to have her literally holding onto me. "Let's go wreck this city!" Nadir barks and Raoul gives a short howl, and together we push open the second gate.

The city erupts in sound and movement as we enter, goblins and fae of all kinds scurrying around, militarizing. The ground rumbles, Erik's anger shaking the very earth. I hear him roar in furious anguish, the sound almost ghostly. It's like it's here, but not at the same time. Impossible, just like him.

As a horde of creatures sweeps towards us, Nadir charges, sword forward. He is a sight to behold, dashing in and around enemies, disarming them expertly without injuring or receiving a single injury himself. Raoul roars, calling pebbles and stones to roll our foes off their feet and out of the way.

Nadir clears the way, and Raoul escorts us, Carlotta and I dealing with anyone who manages to get close. We have several scuffles, but once we manage to steal a spear of our own, it's a lot easier. Despite not being trained or educated for combat, it's a lot of fun! It's like dancing, or singing. It takes your whole body, your whole heart and head, everything you are at every moment. It's beautiful, in a strange and terrible way. It doesn't help that our enemies are sometimes comically under-prepared, and react in such extreme ridiculous ways when they're defeated. They make it seem like a joke, and it's all the easier to enjoy the brawl, despite what's at stake.

Eventually, bigger fae come after us, and we end up cornered in a building. All the buildings are like towers, siege towers quickly built. Raoul barely fits inside, but he blocks the door well. Carlotta and I defend from the roof, knocking back those who try to climb in from the open ceiling or through windows. I worry briefly if I'm perhaps hurting them, but I remember that their aim is to probably do worse than 'hurt' me, and they aim to do it to all of us. Besides which, they seem sturdy in body but weak in mind, for even striking most of them once is enough to send them away. A few take a little more persuading, but an assault of heavy _thwacks_ will send them off without a doubt.

Nadir is lost in a sea of crossing blades, and he is a fury to be dealt with. He is a blur of black fur and silver cloak, sword blazing in the light of the city. As Carlotta and I deal what we can from the roof, Raoul seems to get upset dealing with the flood of enemies trying to come in the door, and calls a new wave of stones, much larger this time, to scare away the horde. It's very successful at its intended purpose, but it shakes and begins to collapse the already weakened building.

Carlotta and I manage to hop to another building, and I realize we can do this to avoid other forces and travel to the castle at the center of the city.

"Raoul!" I call down, leaning over the edge as he peeks out of the building rubble on the ground below. It was a light stone, and I think he ought to be okay, but I am a little worried. "Are you alright?"

"Fine!" He yells back, with a slightly goofy smile. He shakes his head wildly, dust flying everywhere.

"Good! We can climb the buildings to the castle, Raoul! Can you get Nadir and bring him here?" I point with my stolen spear toward the castle. He nods, and pulls himself the rest of the way out of the fallen building. He shakes himself free of the dirt and dust, and takes off running on all fours. I turn to Carlotta, beside me. "Come on, Carlotta, let's keep going before more show up." She nods, resting on my waist and shoulders again.

I jump from building to building, the reassembling forces on the ground struggling to track us, as we move above the thin, crowded streets with much more ease than they can. I look back every once in a while, and I see Raoul, carrying a protesting Nadir up a building, following our lead. Nadir looks like he wants to join the rough and tumble on the ground again, the fight more interesting than the cause at the moment. I laugh gently at this, but I'm cut short as an explosion tears the building out from under me.

I scream as we tumble on the collapsing building, right into a mob of angry goblins with scimitars and hand bombs. We hop to our feet as soon as we can, but we're surrounded. Carlotta growls. I get an idea when I see the small, four headed cannon that's standing in front of us.

"You'll never hit us!" I taunt, to which the crowd gasps, and what looks like the captain throws one of his bombs. I bat the bomb with my spear, and either I am better at aiming than I thought or I am very lucky, for it shoots down the front most barrel of the loaded cannon and explodes, forcing the others to shoot out their balls into the array. The forces scramble in a panic, parting before us. I hear Raoul and Nadir coming behind us, so I decide to hold off for a moment. When they come into view, they are running, Nadir with his sword held high, yelling like a conquer, Raoul thundering behind like a ferocious bear, coming to defend what's his. As I spot them, I wave them forward, and start charging, Carlotta returned once more to my shoulder. As I lead them up the stairs, I see Erik in the tallest tower watching us. His expression is impossible to gauge, but if I had to guess, I'd say he was afraid. I make sure to do my best at keeping his eyes as I run, as if to tell him 'I'm coming for you'.

He ducks inside, his cape billowing out the window of the tower before he disappears entirely.

We meet a little more resistance inside the castle proper, as we are immediately ambushed in the grand foyer, fae folk wearing masks, more humanly proportioned, literally dropping in on us from the landings above the ground floor. Still, we fight our way through the main hall into the lobby, no less than three grand chandeliers hanging delicately in the air, held by no rope or chain. The room is clear of foes, so we keep going, fighting off those who pursue.

But as we pass under each chandelier, their beautiful lights flicker and fail, and then they fall. Each one is a little closer, but we outrun them all, and make it up the stairs with no more incidents or clashing of weapons, for no one follows us. We turn as we make it to the top, and I'm not the only one a little surprised that the fae have paused in the doorways, unwilling to chase us any further.

There are three ways to proceed from here, left, forward, and right. I have no idea, and there's no time to waste..

"Nadir, do you know the way through here?" I ask, a little breathless.

"Yes. He's likely in his courtroom, or his chambers, but they're the same way.." He pants, tongue lolling slightly between breaths and words.

"Then lead the way." Carlotta encourages him. Her cheeks glow with a rosy hue, the efforts of the day plain on her face. Still, she seems eager to continue. Nadir nods, then points the right passageway.

"This way- even the castle is a labyrinth in its own right, so be wary." He leads the way, and I follow, Raoul bringing up the rear. Despite our high alert, nothing happens as he leads us through the twists and the turns of the castle, and it seems impossibly larger on the inside than it ever looks like on the outside, as the corridors become stairs or hallways or guestrooms. The path to his court is impossibly winding, I find myself thinking.

"Was it always this hard to get to the most important rooms?" I wonder out loud.

"No. I'm.. navigating on instinct, on what I know about Phantom, but he has added many more variables since I was last here. I wonder if he holds court anymore at all, my lady." He admits.

"He has not held 'court' in any recent memory. He rules alone, from the dark and with silence. When he speaks, it is never good.." Carlotta informs us both. "Was he ever a fair ruler?" She asks. Nadir stiffens ahead of us but nods.

"I'm not sure what changed in him- but yes, once upon he was a decent king, and my friend. I think… I do not know what I think." He sounds sad, like he definitely has thoughts or even knowledge about what happened, but his feelings on the matter are what confuse or befuddle him. Suddenly the way he stands seems very familiar to me, in the same way that Erik himself has always seemed a little less than a stranger. Nadir stops us at a crossing, the castle looking more like a dungeon here, despite the fact that we have only ascended since entering.

"I don't know which way from here." He growls, disappointed. I step forward, feeling… something. Like the music in the dream that called me, except even more intangible. I don't know the source or the nature of this feeling, but I feel called.

"Forward. The way is forward." I'm sure of it, but I don't know how. But I am certain. Raoul seems doubtful, but he nods, ready to follow. Nadir relents leadership, gesturing for me to take the front. I nod, and head into the darkness, the firelight from the chamber dispersing all too soon as we travel in.

But I don't feel wrong yet, so I persist. It feels like many years pass in the few moments it takes to reach the end of the cramped tunnel, and it is a mild relief when my outstretched hands touch the wood of a door. I gasp in excitement, and only fumble for a moment to find the door knob. We seem to spill out into the next room, the light more of a relief than I think we were willing to consciously admit it would be while we were in that dark tunnel.

"The court." Nadir exclaims.

"I.. didn't think that was correct." I admit. I had doubts, of course, but the gut instinct was too much to ignore.

"I am surprised." Nadir nods. "But you got us here. Phantom is not here, so he must be in his chamber, waiting for us. It's through here." He explains as he pulls aside a magnificent portrait of a lady who could be an older me. Her dark hair is almost too curly, her hips too wide to be mine. But the shade of her skin, the way her eyelids rest over gentle eyes, the way her lips appear to pout and smile at the same time- she could be me. But behind her, there's one more staircase. It seems impervious to the light of day streaming in from a window just to the left, the second stair already drenched in shadow.

"If you will lead us, one last time, Christine?" Nadir offers the doorway to me. "We will follow you unto the end, my lady. Carlotta and Raoul nod.

I step forward into the doorway…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

.. And turn around.

"No." I state with a shake of my head. My friends are shocked.

"Wh- why?" Carlotta sputters, hanging from Raoul's side.

"Because… because I think I have to do this myself."

"And why is that?" Raoul asks, the first thing he's said in ages.

"Because it's the way it has to be."

"Why?" Nadir asks, a slight whine to his voice. I lace my fingers together briefly, wondering how I can explain.

"Because that's the story it needs to be. I… I'm so grateful for everything you've all done for me, or for yourselves but also benefitted me.. I know you, Nadir, still want to cross words with Erik, and I know, Carlotta and Raoul, that you just want to see it through at this point, but I really think that.. it won't be a story with a happy ending if we all go through to the finale, you know? I can't explain why I feel that way, but I know for certain that Erik and I have to meet, have to.. fight it out one last time, but do you guys?"  
"So you would fight him alone?" Carlotta spits, furious. "That will make our 'story' a good one?"

"Yes." I nod. "I'm sorry, I know this sounds crazy, but I really think it has to be just me and him.." They look at me blankly.

"Look. I know that if you guys go, he'll feel attacked, outnumbered maybe. He's scared, he's hurt, I don't know what about, but I know he trusts me in some weird fundamental way and I think that if I go alone…"

"You stand a chance of ending this without a literal fight." Nadir reasons.

"Yes. But if you come with… nothing I say will matter, because you being there makes it less.. personal.. between us. Does that make sense?" I ask them. If I sound absolutely nutty, I'll give in to all three of them, but if there is any room I'm right, I won't relent. Nadir seems to have already accepted my decision, and Carlotta is the first to sigh. She shares a look with Raoul and Nadir, and then looks down in defeat.

"If that is how it must be…" She sighs, but then looks up with a bit of hope. "But should you need us.." She offers, hand reaching out slightly.

"Yes, should you need us, we'll be here." Nadir continues, willing to accept this condition.

"Right here, waiting." Raoul concludes, smiling sadly. I feel ready to cry again, grateful for these wonderful friends.

"Thank you. I won't forget you, no matter what happens. Ever." I turn to take the stairs, but I hesitate. I turn around and hug them all in the best group hug I can pull together. "I love you all. I will see you again, I swear it." With a final squeeze, I release, them, and turn and run up the stairs into the darkest void I have ever known. The door seals shut behind me, and in this emptiness where only touch informs me of my way even my memories of light seem dim and vague. Eventually I no longer feel the steps rise, as though I were walking up the most natural incline. Then even that fades, and the ground underneath is smooth and as flat as can be. The light has not changed, but even so I feel strangely aware of myself in this space.

I walk forward, there's nowhere else to go. As I do, a dim light comes awake above me. I turn around, and there are mirrors on swivels everywhere. I turn around again, and it's the same. It's as if I were always in this room. This room, which seems infinite and infinitely filled with mirrors, lit only by that poor and yellowed light that has no source.

"Come out, Erik. I've come for my violin, and you can't hide from me." I know he's here, somehow. I can.. feel it in my heart. He's nearby, and so is my violin. Absentmindedly, or so I hope I appear, I push on a mirror's edge, and it goes spinning. I watch it, mildly mesmerized by the way the environment seems to twist as it goes round and round, slight _swooshes_ catching the air. As the mirror turns round the last time, slowing to a halt, Erik appears. He stands tall, glowering down at me, wearing an outfit that screams 'murder'. The red leathery material is so deep and slick that he may well have just risen from a pool of blood. I am momentarily disgruntled by this, but I am not afraid. I match his glare with my own.

"Why must we play this game?" He suddenly asks, a moment of staring suddenly a conversation out loud.

"You chose to play." I sound accusatory, but it's true.

"No, no.." He shakes his head, almost numbly. "We used to be.. there was a time when.. you always want to remember the wrong stories."

"Remembering my father is hardly a misstep, Erik. He's important to me, how dare you-" He slams a hand on the mirror from the other side, stopping me.

"No!" He snarls, his mask's magical porcelain curling up around his nose. I return to heartlessly glaring.

"I want my violin, Erik. The game's not over yet." He hisses at this, but I hold my ground.

"If you want it, you shall have to pry it away from me." With that, he raises it to his chin, and starts a chilling song that sounds like torturous, venomous heartbreak. Erik dissolves in the mirror, and all the mirrors in the room start spinning, all too fast. I see Erik appear and disappear in some of them, but he's there and gone within a single rotation, his image a mere flicker.

" _Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair, down we plunge to the prison of my mind!_ " He sings, but I don't understand how _he's_ trapped here, when it's his kingdom, his land and all under his power. The music swells and I feel a call to join it, but that is a kind of temptation I have to fight, because giving in would mean surrender, and I have already decided I will not lose, not here.

Furious at this seeming impossible puzzle, the insanely spinning mirrors and half-life images of Erik taunting me, full of rage himself, I do something I've never done before. I break something.

Yes! I grab the edge of a mirror as it swings around, the edge biting into my hands, and I pull, the swivel at the base breaking easily with the disrupted momentum of the spin. It crashes but I don't wait to watch it shatter, I pull down another and another and just when I go to topple one more, Erik appears with in, and his image stays even as the mirror continues to whirl.

"What on earth are you doing? This isn't how it's supposed to go!" He shouts, but I pay the words no mind. Barely thinking, I run straight in, the mirror somehow non-physical as I pass through its edges.

I tackle Erik, grabbing after the violin. I feel the force of the mirrors we're inside, but we fall out in our mad scramble to keep or obtain possession of the instrument. We step out of the one and into another, getting dizzier each time we pass from one revolving mirror world to another. Finally, I grab something, anything, desperate to try to wrangle him into giving it up, and I pull. The object comes loose easily and I fly backwards, the smooth shape clutched in my hands. I fall out of the mirror entirely, harshly landing on my back.

The mirrors shatter as I hear Erik yell inhumanly. The sound resonates in my skull and the pressure is such that I have no wonder that glass cannot stand it. I can barely recognize the sound for all the force affecting me. The glass falls down around me, and I scream shortly as I feel pieces the size of confetti strips hitting me, though relatively harmlessly. What's a few mild scratches to the injuries I've faced already today?

I pull myself to a sitting position, blink the glass away from my eyes carefully but quickly, then look down at my hands to see what's upset him so. It's his mask. Erik's mask. The magic mask he wears as a face because.. because…?

I look to Erik instinctively, his shadowy form just across from me, hiding unsuccessfully behind the empty frames of the now-destroyed mirrors. He shudders, shakes and nearly falls to his knees, his awkwardly and far too long legs, and screams again, the metal frames bending and warping this time. I feel my insides twist with anxiety. The very world seems to shake. As his scream dies a low rumble seems to form in its place, and then that falls away into a laugh, a terrible and hollow laugh.

"So, this is what you wanted to see?" He rasps, shaking. I cannot see more than his silhouette, the dim light somehow dimmer. His very form seems.. unhinged. He's too big. Was he always that thin, that tall? Were his hands so long and crooked? Slowly, he turns, and his golden orange eyes glow from the dark. My head starts to hurt. "Why, Christine? Why?" This time, I see the barest hint of movement where his lips should be, but I only see a glint of.. of teeth, acting as lips should act. I see now, the gaping hole of his nose, edges skeletal, how his mouth is a row of teeth, catlike, thin and angular, how the barest hint of normal mouth at the edge of these is turned down in a grimace that pulls his face awkwardly. His skin seems like porcelain, or clay, charcoal gray and cracked about the nose and eyes, and yet still skin, still flesh and muscle.

And then I remember.

I remember the fairy in the garden who taught me to sing, who told me stories, who comforted me in the wake of nightmares. I clutch my head from the new wave of old memories, locked away so long ago and again and again until they were buried in dreams and nightmares both.

"Erik?" I sputter, breathless, tears dropping hard and fast as soon as they form.

"NO!" He roars, that terrible _maw_ twisting in rage. The splinters of glass around us explode, and the atmosphere seems to rumble and shake with his fury.

"Erik, what did you do?!" I yell back. I- I know him! I've always known him- and yet?

"You outgrew me! Your fairy wasn't enough anymore and you just had to see, didn't you?!" He accuses me, prowling forward on all fours like an animal until he's close enough to grab me by the wrists, mask held between us. His fingers are so long that they wrap nearly twice around my wrists, the grip mechanical and perfect; inescapable. "And then I wasn't good enough at all, Christine, wasn't I? Your fairy wasn't pretty and that just would do, would it? And you looked at me with those horrified, disgusted eyes, Christine, and I couldn't bear it! You begged, you begged and you wished so desperately for me to undo it!" He flings my arms away, sending me backwards on the ground. My back stings from the harsh landing and the now sand-fine layer of glass. He stands up, backs away. "So I did. I undid it all."

"That's not what I… That's not what I meant." I realize. I remember.. I was twelve, I think, and I only wanted to see what my fairy looked like and when.. when he looked so hurt, so upset, so _betrayed_ , I wished that I could undo that pain but he..

"To hell with what you meant, Christine. None of that matters.. because you belong to me.. you are mine, Christine." He turns back on my, desperation and surety conflicting in his eyes, held tight by possession only.

"No, I'm-"

"But you are, because I love you, and I need you and there is nothing you can do to leave without my permission. You are magic and you are music and you belong here and you will love me… you are the only one who can." His voice is back to whispering, but I hear it clearly as though I spoke the words myself, even above the shaking of the air.

"You're wrong! On all accounts you are wrong, Erik! I am no one's but my own! I am human and a child and I cannot love someone who lies and cheats and steals from the one he claims to adore so much! You could be loved!" I yell, and I stand. I throw the mask to the ground. I think we're both done with masks. "You brought me here, expecting me to fail and fall right in your arms, but I made it, despite all your cruelties!" Erik steps back as I approach. For something, someone so big, he is very afraid of a little girl. Even so his mouth twists in disgust.

"Cruelties? I have been _generous_! I have done all that you asked! Everything! Your memories, unwanted, undone! A chance to earn them back, granted! Time and space reordered time and again! Even now as you repeat yourself, baring the monster you don't want, I allow it because it's what you want!" He sneers. "I am exhausted from performing to your very whims, Christine." He looks it too, exhausted and terrified. "What now, do you want, Christine, so that I can do that too?" He is… pathetic. He is tired and scared and he wants this done. No matter what his face looks like, terrifying and inhuman, I know those eyes.

"I want to remember this time. You want to undo it again, but this is not a pity. This is respect. I cared about you once, I could again, but not if you keep cheating. Not if you keep taking under the guise of giving."

"I will not allow it! In no kingdom of mine will this face be known to anyone!" The world cracks around us, as if he would break it apart in tandem with himself. The words I know I need to speak rise in me. I steady myself and step forward. Erik steps back, clutching the violin.

"Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Fairy City. For my-"

"Please, think of it, you could rule here, rule _music_ here, your birthright-"

"-will is as strong as yours, and my-"

"-it could be beautiful here with you as its queen, as my queen, only-"

"-kingdom _is_ as great." The cracks grow, white, blinding light piercing in and highlighting every deformity. The glass shimmers on the ground, spins and twirls in unfelt winds.

"-let me rule you, let me take away those thought that harm you, and you can stay, stay and be mine and young forever, please, please, Christine. Be mine as I would be yours, perfect and whole and endless and unseen.." He whines, and he continues, but it is as if I cannot hear him beneath the thundering of my own small voice.

"You have no power over me."

The world shatters and Erik seems to fall back into space. I feel like space is tearing in two, he on one side and I on another. I start to fall up, glass dancing around me as it rises but I know, like I know anything about Erik, that he is falling into death, just as I would fall up into life. Below, I see darkness, only darkness and despair that he willingly throws himself into, and above I can see my room, the house, my home. I could let this play out, could let Erik submit himself to death and go back to my own life, but… something in me begs me to stay, and I know that it's the part of me that my father raised. Always kind.

"Erik!" I reach forward, to his arms stretched out as he falls, to clutch at the violin. It barely holds, being pulled in two directions, but Erik lets go of the neck, and I barely catch his sleeve with my other hand. This stuns him out of his mindless stare.

He yanks away, but I hold tight. He growls, and I feel as though our respective gravities intensify. Still, I do not let go.

"Go! Forget about me again, be happy in that human world with your dead father and empty house!" He roars, terrible teeth parting. His eyes scream hurt.

"No! You deserve to live, Erik! I remember! I remember you told me nobody loved you so you made your own kingdom, but that didn't fix anything, did it? Because you hide! That's all you do is hide, hide and hurt others before they can hurt you, but it doesn't have to be that way! You can be loved, you can be good, you deserve to be loved!" I pull, hard, until I can wrap my arms around him, and I hold tight. We go spinning, the strange, opposite polarities twisting around us.

"I remember when we were little and I loved you and I thought you were an angel and the image of goodness and, and I know you could find that again. I don't.. I can't forgive you quickly, but I want what we used to be.. friends." Slowly, I feel him relax, and his arms fall across my back, gently.

"How?" His voice is so small, like when we were young.

"How.. how what?" I ask, turning to see him, but he's looking away, and all I can see is his chin, the collar of his cape obscuring the rest.

"How can you even tolerate this? Touching .. me? I am.."  
"You were my friend, once, Erik. It doesn't matter what you look like. Only what you do, and what you mean. I don't care that you're not 'pretty'. It's your actions I take offense at."

"So, then, how in that case can you say that I should live? I could just.. fall away, and this kingdom would crumble away and all that would be left is the infinite pit… We could all just fall away.."

"For the same reasons. You were good once. You can be good again." I whisper. "You deserve to live, to try again. I.. I know you've been hurting, that's why you've done all you have, and that doesn't excuse it, but.. I, at least, am willing to offer a second chance."

"You are always kind.."

"As I was taught. As I believe." I murmur. He is quiet, his heartbeat erratic. I can feel it in my hands, pressed against his shoulders.

"You've been wronged in your life nearly as much as I, how can you do it?"

"There's so much bitterness and sorrow in the world as it is.. why would I ever want to add to it? It's well enough to be angry or sad or scared.. but these things have their purpose and their time and place. Their usefulness only lasts so long and.. while it's hard to get past them, we have to. We have to. The world would be too dark if that's all we felt."

"I do not know how.. how to move past this. I.. I hurt. I hurt and I hurt you and I-" He curls around me, enormous but gentle now, though he starts to shake.

"Hush. I know." I hold him tighter. "I forgive you. Mostly. Some things will take longer than others, but I understand. I do. I made the same mistake." I whisper. For a long moment, we simply breathe in the darkness, still being pulled in opposite directions, though only gently. We hang in equilibrium, supporting each other.

"..what now?" Erik asks firsts. "I'd rather you forgot about.. this. It keeps happening.. I cannot bear it again."

"Again? How many times have we fought like this?" I pull away to look at him, and while he only moves his eyes away, I know he wishes he could hide.

"Like this? Never quite like this. I have tried many times over the years to reconnect with the same result. The mystery of the fae behind the façade always.. always gets to you." His voice is a tired bitterness.

"Not this time. It was an accident."

"What was different this time?"

"I realized.. I knew who you were underneath. Underneath the real mask, that is. That you were just hurt and felt broken so you hide and hurt others. Everyone wears masks, Erik. Everyone has something they want to hide. But eventually you can't. And you don't, not to the people who really care. They'll understand, or try to."

"No one cares, if anyone ever did. I was born from malice and fury, Christine.." I can feel us sink under the weight of his despair. I see his tired eyes trying to close, those long lashes fluttering wearily.

"You needn't hide from me, Erik. Whatever else, I _do_ care." I wish I could give him my will to live, to grow, to better. If I am magic, why can't I do this? I remember the life of torment he has described to me, time and again, and I wish I could ease that suffering; it does nothing to wish. Even so, I feel him shudder, a sob rising out of him.

"You are always kind, Christine."

He cranes his neck to look at me, and for a moment his golden yellow eyes meet mine, gratitude and heartache both visible there, but then he is somehow gone, the spinning through emptiness stops, and I feel ground beneath my feet. I am still in a void of darkness, or, rather, back in that original, infinite dark stairwell. I no longer feel that well of empty void and death, nor that doorway to home. I sigh. Erik is fine, I can feel it. So I start to climb again, but the tension that filled this space before is gone. I navigate the stairs much easier, this time. I step up, and there are no more stairs, and a light blooms, creating a world around me.

It's like entering an entirely different dimension, where the night is both the sky and the earth, all encompassing. The stairs have led me to a platform made of the same reddish brown stone of the early parts of the labyrinth, but it's shaped like the top of a tower. There are trees in here, however they are dead and wiry, their branches running off into the air above for what seems like forever.

Erik is sitting, almost drenched in his cloak, by a part of the tower that's missing its parapet. I walk over, slowly. His hair is back, and I figure that the mask is as well. He's human height again, instead of nine feet tall, or so he appears as I approach. He is no longer the color of ashes or the texture of dolls or teacups, no longer a mere skeletal mass. Yes, the mask is back, I see as he turns ever so slightly towards me, then away again. His slightly elongated ears hide the edge of the mask.

"Erik?"

"Forgive me for sending you away so abruptly, I needed a moment."

"I understand." I hold the violin, almost forgotten, to my chest. For a moment there is impossible but peaceful quiet, but Erik stands, his cape rustling.

"So.. you've completed all your quests. You've retrieved your memories, all of them, and the violin. You bested the labyrinth, bested me, and to top it all off, you saved this kingdom from a swift and sure demise.. What now, Christine Daae?"

"I think I should go home." I say, nearly without thinking. But it's true. All of this was to go home victorious, wasn't it? Well, victorious I am, though I feel a little hollow.

"Ah." He laughs, trying to be earnest. "Of course, home. Where is home, Christine? It could be here, couldn't it?" Finally he turns fully. His clothes are much simpler now. A white shirt, dark pants, tall boots, typical cape. I think for a moment He still wants me to stay, but I know now that he won't try to force me. He couldn't if he tried, but he won't do even that.

"Home is where Meg and Mrs. Giry are.. the world where my mother and father are buried, the world where our house stands and I go to school and grow up. This.. as wonderful and magical and mystical as it all is.. this isn't my home."

"But it could be." Erik almost pleads. And I see it, there in my mind, how this kingdom could blossom if I so much as stayed, let alone.. anything else.

"But it isn't." He blinks. A pause, and he sighs.

"Of course. Yes. So, then, home you shall go. Memories and violin and all." He waves a hand to the side, and a mirror appears, but the image changes from reflection to the inside of my room at the Girys' house. I step close to it, amazed. So easy. I half expected another quest. "I must warn you, though.." He hesitates. There it is.

"What? Another quest? A riddle, perhaps?"  
"No, no. We are beyond that.. It's just that- well, you see…. Ah.." He pauses, losing his composure with nerves or, no, sadness? "There.. there are rules. Any fae kingdom.. you may enter it once, and you may leave it once. There is no second adventure." This hits me hard when it finally dawns on me what it means.

"If I go home I can't even visit? But, but I've made friends here, I promised I'd see them again, I…"

"I know you did. But those are the rules, and not even you or I can change them. So unless home can be here…" He gestures to the world around us, the stars practically singing for me to stay. But I can't stay. My life, whatever it turns out to be, isn't here. I can feel that much in my heart. Erik knows it too, I can see it in his eyes that he's lost his fight. ".. you have to go. I understand."

"Can.. Can I say goodbye, at least?" I feel sick, close to crying again. Erik nods.

"Of course. Take as long as you need." Noiselessly, he waves a hand over the mirror and it turns into an image of the throne room, where Carlotta, Raoul, and Nadir still wait. Carlotta is pacing anxiously, almost furiously. Raoul sits and stares at the wall that hides the stairway. Nadir sits on some steps that separate the main floor from a balcony, staring at the reflection in his sword. "Guys?" I nearly cry. They all turn at my voice. I must be positioned over the throne, in the painting that hung there.

"Christine!" They all cry out, leaping to their feet and coming toward me, or my image anyway.

"Did you kick his sorry ass?!" Carlotta asks the loudest. I giggle.

"I guess you could say that. Everything is fine. I.. I won. I got the violin and nobody got hurt. Well.. physically." I show off the violin with a little wave.

"So I'll get my stern talking-to with Phantom?" Nadir asks, eagerly smirking, tail faintly wagging.

"Indeed." I nod.

"Christine will come back now?" Raoul asks, and that's where my smile fades, and a few more tears drop down my cheeks. "Christine?"

"Christine, what is going on?" Carlotta demands, albeit softly for her normal tone. I suppose she's concerned. "Is everything well? You won, what is the matter? Are you hurt? We will be right there!" Carlotta starts to fly, but I shake my head before she can get far.

"I'm fine! I am. I.. I did.. I won." I nod. "And now I have to go home. I can't.. leave my life behind. I need to go home and grow up and, and.. and that means I can't come back." They gasp. "It's not that I don't love you guys, you, you're all the best friends anyone could hope for, and I'd do anything for any of you-"

"So stay!" Carlotta asks, hands on the painting, visible in my mirror as though she were on the other side of a sheet of glass. "If you do anything for us, stay! That's all any of us would ask, ever!"

"I can't."

"Why not?" She demands. She's furious and desperate.

"I.. I have people who care about me waiting for me, and I can't let them think I abandoned them-"

"So you abandon us instead?! Do we not care enough?" Carlotta pounds.

"No! You'll know I'm okay! If I stay here they'll never know, and.. and this isn't my home… I don't want to leave you, but I.. I can't lie to myself. Never again. I need to grow up and learn, and be around humans and do silly human things.. I don't belong here, as much as I belong with you. I can't explain it.."

"Then don't, and stay!" Carlotta insists. I swear I can see tears in her eyes and it tears me apart. I shake my head.

"This is goodbye.."

"There is no goodbye!" She yells, and Nadir gently puts his hands on her shoulders, shaking his head softly.

"If the good lady says she must, then she must. How would you wish to be in an alien world where nothing was what you expect and there was no one like you in all the world? No, she must go, though we don't have to like it, not one bit." Nadir consoles her, but she doesn't stop staring at me, demanding.

"I'm sorry-" I try to start.

"I don't believe it, I refuse to accept it!" Carlotta shrills. Erik, just beyond their sight, seems to quiver. He must feel my heartache. I feel the need to end this, or they will succeed in keeping me here. I may have eaten the fruit, but I can't be Persephone. I have to go.

"I've.. I've got to go. I'll always love you, all of you, and everything we did. I will never, ever, in all my life, forget you." I start to cry harder, sniffling.

"Goodbye, Lady Christine. I wish you all the best in your life." Nadir bows deeply, ears dropped, single eye glistening.

"Goodbye, Christine." Raoul whines.

"This is not goodbye, there is no goodbye.." Carlotta mumbles. I shake my head. I place my hand on the mirror where hers is.

"Goodbye.." She starts to pull back, but the image fades, and I pull my hand back, frightened. But I only see my bedroom again, ready for me.

"You could stay for a little while, you know.. Leave _later_.." Erik suggests.

"And leave my family to worry for however long I choose to stay? No.. I'd never be happy knowing that I hurt them like that."

"We could write them a letter.." He half-heartedly suggests, a sad laugh in the words.

"A letter?"

"You're right, of course. You must go. Life will not wait for you.." He gestures to the mirror. I look between it and him for a moment.

"I think you're forgetting something."

"What?" He looks perplexed, and then I hug him.

"We have to say goodbye, too. A-and- and since I can't hug them, you'll have to do it for me. Please apologize to them a-and be friends with them and be a good and kind ruler, like I know you can be, and I know you'll be loved." I bury my face in his vested shoulder, almost scared to leave.

"I… I don't know what to say. I always thought that when you finally came I would.. I would keep you forever. I never thought.. that there would be a goodbye. You could live forever, you know. One day you'd be powerful enough to slip between worlds without rules or restrictions. You could be and go anywhere with your dearly beloved friends, you could-" He speaks, just barely a head taller than me now, his voice so close and soft and inviting.

"I know. Maybe in another world, another life, we end up together.. but here, now, this me has to leave. So.. so say goodbye, and good luck, and I'll miss you."

"Goodbye. Good luck. I will miss you, Christine."

"And you as well, Erik. Be good." I whisper, and finally pull away. "Be good." I repeat, meeting his eyes. He's so weary, so tired, so ready and unprepared to say goodbye. It keeps sinking in that this is it, this is the last time we'll be face to face, or face to mask, or whatever, ever again. This is the end.

Suddenly it's unbearable to think about and I do what I think I've been aching to do this whole time. My arms shoot out, grabbing him by the wrist with my free hand as he had earlier held mine, and I pull him down and I kiss him.

I have never kissed before, and I was certain I would miss, but my lips land firmly on his. It's strange, for his upper lip is but a mask, and his lower is a glimmer, an illusion, but it, _he_ feels solid. But the feeling beyond the sensory is beyond imagining. I feel as though I am tasting spice and magic, and my heart skips like a child through rain, so delighted and invincible. I let go of his wrist and put my hands on the cheeks of his mask, and open my eyes. I was hardly aware that I'd closed them.

Erik draws back a bit, tears streaking down his marble-esque mask. His pointed ears are red, tilted ever so slightly down. Shock? Sorrow? What is he feeling?

Slowly he dips back down, gently brushing our lips together. I close my eyes and close the gap. I feel his arms wrap so mildly, so lightly around me. I almost want him to hold me forever; would it be so bad to stay? But the images and the names and the voices of everyone waiting for me flash like thunder in my mind. I remain pressed against him a moment longer, and let the music that can only form when we are together play around us. I can hear it; the stars sing, the trees dance, the castle itself sparkles with delight. What a force we could be.. In another time, in another place, I am both weak enough and strong enough to stay. But here…

I finally pull away, Erik letting go at my slightest push. I brush the long side-locks of his hair out of his face.

"It's time to go, isn't it?" He asks, but he knows. He knows. I can only nod. He sighs, and takes my free back in his. "Then I will hold on as long as I can." I nod again, then turn, placing my hand with the violin against the mirror. Like water, it envelopes my hand and the instrument. I turn my head to face Erik.

"Promise you'll never stop trying. Before I go, you have to promise to try, to be good, and to never stop."

"By those very sacred kisses, I do solemnly promise." I nod, and then again.

"Okay, then. Goodbye." I sink my hand further into the mirror, stepping back and letting it swallow me. As it covers my face, Erik becomes an almost indistinct blur, but his hand is still firm in mine, and he doesn't let go until the mirror's edge is to my wrist. Even then, he lets his fingers drag across mine.

"Goodbye, Christine. I wish I had done better." I hear him whisper, and then I see and hear and feel nothing.

It's like blinking. I don't feel anything, and suddenly I'm in my room, violin and bow in hand, hands and feet scraped, clothes and hair a mess. I turn around slowly in my room, and it's almost surreal. I almost never expected to realistically get home. I find the open case for the violin on the bed, so I gently tuck it away, apologizing for the abuse it may or may not have sustained from the adventure. Then I sit at the stool of my mirror, and stare inside, hoping for a sign from the other side. But all I see is me.

For a moment, I doubt this decision. Was it really the right thing to do to abandon my friends, despite my reasons? What if I hate my life here? I will die one day here; what if I realize then that this was not a life worth living? What if the right decision was to stay? It's too late now. I have to live with this decision now, and my life can only be what I make it.

I head to the bathroom down the hall, and clean my hands and feet. They sting, but they let me know that what I experienced is real. Damn me for doubting everything, but at least I have these reminders, brutal though they are. As I finish draining away the dirt and dried blood, I hear the front door open, and a flurry of chatter comes inside. I sigh. I missed them. I hope they aren't upset at me being gone a whole, ah, what, day and a half? I certainly don't know how to explain where I've been.

I trot down the stairs, eager to apologize, but I stop when I notice that Meg and her mother are in the clothes they were wearing to the performance last night- that is, the night I wished away my memories. Has Erik undone the day that followed so that there are no consequences? And I am startled again when I see someone new with them. Someone ginger and chubby who has a dog and a shrill but pleasant voice.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As Christine departs, the tips of her fingers slipping through the mirror, I feel our times unlink. I watch as she moves away in slow, impossible motion. I swipe a hand through the mirror, and it dissipates like mist.

I cry, openly. There's no one here now and I cannot bear the thought-

She's gone. She's gone. My redemption, my friend, my _queen_.. gone. And to leave me in such a way, I am both honored and destroyed. I feel the ghost of her lips on mine. I feel hollow, that familiar ache of wanting her near, her completion, her sound, her kind and treasured and now forever human heart. I feel the pit, that terrible part of me, swell and desire to swallow me and my kingdom and as always I am so tempted, so tempted to fall away into oblivion. Though I had never given in for want of Christine, I cannot give in now, for I have made a promise. I am not perfect, and I am not truly good, but I cannot, will not, dare to break a promise made to her, bless her soul. Instead, I trudge to the throne room, to complete the other task she gave to me. I soak in the dark as I pass through, but I know that this quiet, this simple moment will not last, and that soon I will be elbow deep in that munchkin's rage.

Indeed, I can hear her screeching through the door, and I sigh. Kindness, I think to myself, kindness. Perhaps that's too much to ask, though, I don't know how to be 'kind'. I can.. I can be 'not cruel'. Yes. Yes, I will not be cruel. I take one last breath and push away the stone, making sure my form is contained. Yes, I look a man, at least.

I step into the light, ready to face this new punishment.

~{(Carlotta)}~

I sit on the throne, furiously crying into what must be the royal pillow, screaming into it, even. I wanted her to stay! My first friend and I wanted to do anything and everything to prove that I was hers as well!

The worst of it is that I understand. She is human, she is mortal, and she needs other mortals and a mortal life. Her heart, her mind, was not made for hundreds of years of thought, of life. And she is young, still, and would be made forever a half-child to stay.

Still, I want her. I do not want to consider my life without her and yet here I am, forced to face this. The Daroga tried, briefly, to calm me, but I threatened to claw out his other eye should he keep trying. Nothing is more dangerous than a furious harpy, and I am beyond 'furious'. I only quiet when the sound of shifting, shuffling stone, interrupts all sound. I turn, not hiding my wet face.

It is Phantom.

A moment of quiet falls around us as he slowly looks over all of us. He opens his mouth to speak but I scream first. I would be impressed with myself to say that I made him flinch, but I do not care. Damn right, he had better fear me! He sent her away! He made her come here, then made her go, and only after she stole my heart, that bastard!

"I am sorry." I hear his voice, and I stop clawing at his shoulders and stupid cape- wait- when? When did I get here? I do not remember, but I must have just assaulted his royal pain in the ass. I am stunned, not only by his words but what I have done. I let go, sink to the floor, empty. He is sorry.

He is sorry and he means it. He let her go. He wanted her to stay like any of us, but he let her go because she wanted to.. I sink back into sobbing, this time, at his majesty's feet on the grey and stony floor.

I am surprised when large hands fall gently on my back, and as I turn up in surprise, those hands pick me up, and press me to the accompanying chest.

"I am so sorry." Phantom cries into my hair. "I have been very, very wrong and I have wronged each of you beyond repentance but I am so, so sorry.." He sobs. Imagine that, our royal king, the dreaded Phantom, the image of oblivion, Red Death himself, sobbing! Despite the absurdity, I find myself joining him.

"Damn you, damn you for this all." I say, hoarse and hurt.

"I know. I know."

~{(Erik)}~

The harpy is so small and fragile in my arms that I can hardly believe it. And yet I feel as though she could destroy me in an instant, for I am weak from the day's events and so many years of disappointment and anger and gods know what else. I am sure she knows it, too. I can only apologize, forever and always and it will never be enough but perhaps something, anything, good will come from it. I turn my head away from the harpy- ah, Carlotta, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It is my once-friend, Nadir Khan.

"Your majesty." He says, simply.

"I am sorry to you as well, Daroga. You did well, protecting Christine. I- you all did. And for those many years ago- the taking of your eye, your curse- I was wrong, then, and I knew it then, and I knew it all along and I am sorry." I sob, tears falling both between and over my mask, but I dare not remove it.

"I know, you silly fool. I was promised a stern talking-to when all this was over, but I suppose I can wait a while longer. I want you properly stable when I reprimand you." He smiles, a strange thing. "Is she home safe?"

"Of course." I try not to be offended. As if I would ever purposefully send her into danger- oh. Ah yes, all of today would certainly contest against that. "Y-yes. She is just arrived home, just after her first wish was made. There will be no worldly memory of her actions after or her time away."

"Good. Does she have all her memories this time? Her father?" He pauses. "..you?"

"Yes. I could not fight her on the matter."

"She always had a sterner will than you." He nods, though I do not know if he means this to be an insult to me or a complement to her. Behind him, the rock dog lumbers over, growling lightly.

"And you as well, beast, you were a most efficient guardian. I apologize for-" I cannot finish, as he only growls louder, baring his teeth. I fight the urge to growl back. The six foot tall beast would be no match, his throat would be like butter- Ah, no. No.

"I believe he means to say that he doesn't want to talk to you." Nadir explains.

"I understand." I am not worthy of forgiveness, but damn it's lack and soreness therein. My attention is called back to the harpy, who has not moved.

"C-Carlotta?"

"I do not know what to do."

"Pardon?" Nadir asks. He and the rock dog both lean in close.

"I had a life before, but now it feels like nothing. I do not know what to do. I wanted to make it up to her. I wanted to prove I was a good and worthy friend. I wanted.. I wanted…" She mumbles, but her words dissolve on her tongue, too small to contain her feelings.

"I understand." I say, and this is a truth. "I wanted her to want to stay, I still want more than anything that I had done all this right and that.. and that.." My words, too, fail me.

"You do not deserve her, you coward!" She snarls.

"I know. I know that more than I want to." I hang my head in shame. "She spared me. I wanted.. I wanted to end it, everything, and she.. of all people, of all the things to say, she said 'I deserve to live'. I don't know that I believe her, but she made me promise to try. To rule and be good. I don't know how, though. I am certain I will fail her- I- I-" I start to choke, afraid to think of failing, afraid to know the inevitability.

"You most certainly will not, you good for nothing!" The harpy slaps me, which stings, even through the mask. She takes my collar in her hands, pulling my face close to hers. "She gave you a second chance! So lucky are you to have this; do not _waste_ it! Do not go into this challenge thinking 'oh, I will fail, I will lose, woe is me!' _NO_ , you do not get to waste this!" She rattles me, snarling. I am.. I am quite afraid.

"W-what am I to do?"

"Anything! Be different, be better, anything to do exactly what you promised! There is no 'try', only to 'do', even if it takes much trying, it will not _end_ there, you idiot!" I am stunned. How simple this solution is, how obvious and how easy. Keep trying, and never stop trying, hmm? It seems impossible.

"You know, when you held court things were better." Nadir says. "And though I am quite upset for the loss of my eye and your stupidly simple curse, I am willing to come out of retirement."

"You would be my counsel? My knight, my.." I flounder.

"Friend. The word you seek is 'friend', Phantom, and yes. It's not a bad job, as these things go, so long as you listen."

"I will. So long as you have words to speak, I will listen."

"And what of us? Are we to be forgotten as you two get on with your lives?" Carlotta once again demands our attention.

"No, no. I am indebted, to each of you. Ask, and I will do my best to provide, for you have done a great deed."

"I cannot possibly have what I want." She says, dismissively, and turns her head away.

~{(Carlotta)}~

"Tell me. Tell me and I will do it, no matter the cost." He says, and he means it I know, but it is impossible.

"I want Christine back. For the short time I have known her, she has been a most powerful and influential force that I cannot possibly live another day without thinking about her. If I cannot have a life with her in it, I suppose I do not want a life at all. I would rather.. become one of your tortured instruments.." Phantom flinches at this. Good!

"She- she cannot come back." He whines. I sigh, ready to be told what I already know. "But- but you could go to her."  
"Yes, I know, it's- wh-what?" I blink.

"Yes, yes. Fae cannot live outside their kingdom, but suppose you were no longer fae?" He speaks with dawning realization. "I could.. I could do it, perhaps but once or twice but, yes, I could craft the spell which makes a faerie folk mortal and human.." Phantom looks down at me. "Would you do it?"

"Of course!" I snap, but he stands, backing away, shaking his head.

"No, no, no. You must understand, that to do this is to die one day. To do this is to never again fly or feel your tail, to be human and a stranger in a foreign world. To do this is to abandon this world, your life here, forever." I am taken aback by this. He sees this, sees my weakness, and something in him hardens again, becomes stone and harsh and cruel. "If you are not willing to do this, then I myself will. Daroga would make a fine king, far better than I, and this world would be free of me- and eventually that world would be too. I'm sure I would still be less than perfect," He says, thinking aloud with a hand on his mask, ", but a life with her would make it worth it all the same.." Raoul growls, and Phantom turns back to us, and the harshness melts.

"First, yes, first, I must know if you will do it. If you will, then you alone will go to her, but if you cannot give up this immortal and familiar life, I will go. But.. but the decision is yours." Phantom looks like he is fighting himself. He wants it, he wants to go to her, but the decision is mine.. I hear Nadir offer words to Phantom, but they are pointless noises to me.

The decision is mine? To go, or not to go? Did I not just say that no life apart from her is one I want to live? Did I not mean it? I consider… and steel myself. I know. I know what I want. I am a coward, but not now.

"I will go." Phantom looks at me, first with shock, then with perhaps anger.

"Are you certain? If there is any chance you will regret-"

"Never! You need to face up to your faults and wrongdoings here, and I want to go to her. It's all I want! I would sooner drown myself than pass a day without her!" I stamp, and then I see the anger is disappointment as it sinks in on his face.

"Yes. Yes, it will be done. You will never know a life without her." He says, bitterly, going to stand by the balcony window. "And I will never know a life with her again.." Though his back is turned to us, I can see he is putting his masked face in his hands. I understand. I imagine, if he were to take this chance for himself, that I would feel much the same.

Raoul keens suddenly, the three of us turning our attention to him.

"Me too."

"You?" Phantom sneers. "You want to go?"

"Yes. You said 'maybe twice'. I want to go." He huffs, streams of air puffing almost visibly through his nose. Phantom sighs.

"I owe you as well, rock dog, so yes. Yes, you will go too. I cannot promise that you will both end up human, but you will live on her earth, assuredly." He relents. Nadir goes up the steps to place a hand on the king's shoulders.

"This is the right decision, milord."

"I know." He murmurs, and then he sighs. "I know."

~{(Christine)}~

Carlotta stares at me, smiling brilliantly in recognition. Raoul the dog even smiles, in that way that only dogs can. I grin, all too happy.

An hour is spent with Meg and Mrs. Giry explaining the ballet and how they met this stranger there who's car broke down and couldn't find a ride to their home a couple towns over, so they generously offered to bring them home for the night. The stranger being Carlotta, and her service dog, Raoul, pronounced 'rall'. When Mrs. Giry asks me to show Carlotta to the guest room, I finally ask her.

"Do you know me?"

"Of course, you silly girl." Her distinct voice teases. "You could not be so easily rid of me."

"How are you here?"

"Well.. no one ever said we could not come to you, so I came. We came." She gestures to Raoul, who only pants up at us.

"Nadir? Erik?"

"They will rule the kingdom together, Nadir as Phantom's counsel. They will keep close eyes on you." She winks, and points to the mirror, visible in my room from the top of the stairs.

"You gave up your home, for me?" Raoul barks in answer, panting in a satisfied way.

"It was hardly home to me, and I think I like it here more. There is you here."

"Oh, Carlotta!" I hug her tight, and she hesitates, but hugs me back. Raoul dances around our feet, agreeing.

"Yes, I like it more here, my friend." I can feel her smile in my hair, and I know this was not a mistake.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

"Christine and Carlotta became the best of friends, and while Carlotta lived in another town, she found many excuses to visit often, and reveled in the joy of technology that allowed them to be closer together. They often argued and fought but always came back together in a way that no one else could have predicted. For all their sometimes volatile interactions, they were always close, and always chose to come back to each other. It was a strange thing, to learn exactly what it meant to be friends, and the few people who knew the whole story could hardly believe what Carlotta had given up for someone she'd known only a day.

Christine, who had previously been wary of the boy, became good friends with Raoul and his older brother Phillippe. They were kind and often defended her name, for they were noble and good-hearted young men.

Raoul the dog lived to be forty-seven, and had the oddest ability to make stones dance, which neither Carlotta nor Christine could explain, since he seemed absolutely and otherwise a simple dog.

Though she was often still plagued by the loss of her father for several years, Christine persevered in growing up and healing rather than stifling herself in sorrow. She discovered it was much better and easier with those good friends she made, as well as her adoptive family, who always supported her. She decided to be a performer, as her father had been, and became quite a respected singer, along with her most beloved partner, Carlotta. They lived well and did well by anyone and everyone they could. 'Always kind' was their motto, and their kindness was never ill-spent.

Erik could not come through the mirror as Christine had, and had spent a great amount of his power to give Carlotta and Raoul the gift of human life that he could no longer claim, but they often spoke by way of that mirror, and they eventually became the friends they had been in their youth. It was a sometimes strained and troubled relationship, one that was often put to question by haunted memories, but they worked through everything as it arose, and were all the stronger for it.

They talked of their respective worlds, and Christine adored hearing about how Erik's kingdom was changing for the better, and often spoke with Nadir on such matters as well. They traded advice, though Christine found Erik was more helpful with finding what not to do than with helping her find what she should do. It was hard to admit that they loved each other in some strange and nameless way, especially considered that notion could never be explored past the boundaries of silver and wood. When Christine fell in love, it was a hard thing to bear for everyone involved, for it meant she had finally grown past that youthful adoration, and it meant that she and her fairie were just a little more distant than they used to be. For him, there was only her. He knew no other way.

Still, this was just a new mountain to climb, and climbed it was, with time and talk and kindness. As Christine grew older, however, things were harder, and one day Erik, King of the Fairies, Phantom of the Labyrinth, simply stopped talking to her. It was a hard loss to Christine, but she understood. She was growing older, she had chosen mortality over an almost infinite life in the Fairy Kingdom, and Erik would have to live with that decision longer than she would. To him, it must have seemed as though she were decaying before his eyes, and she understood that he could not bear to watch that.

Still, historians and paranormal enthusiasts alike would comment on the shapes that seemed to appear in pictures of her, especially those taken in front of glass and mirrors and on dark nights. Christine Daae became a figure of myth for her angelic voice and seemingly angelic guardian, formed only of shadows in grainy black and white photos. Especially mythic are the letters she wrote to 'fairies' in her final years, most notably the last one:

 _My dearest Fairy King,_

 _I know you have never written back, but I think this letter is a significant one, for it is the last one I will write with these hands. I am on my way to my father and mother, wherever their spirits may be. I must say that the choice I made so many years ago was a good one. Looking back, you can see that either would have done well, but I am happy with what I chose, and I hope that despite the circumstance, you have been and will continue to be happy as well. I have missed you in the years since we stopped talking, even more when Raoul and then Carlotta passed and there was no one else to remember with me, but I still try to understand what it must have been like for you. Nevertheless, I have missed you, and that bears noting, I think._

 _I can not decide if I am excited or frightened. Part of me hopes that this feeling of finality is only a fib, and that I will continue on for a little while longer, but my health has been failing very surely, and I know myself well enough to say that it is likely very true. Definitive, even. So, in the face of this finality, I do wonder, what next? Isn't that what you asked me at the end? 'What next'? I don't know this time, to be honest! I hope that I might make a 'pit stop' and say hello, but if that is not the case, I hope this last letter will suffice._

 _I feel as if there is much I should or simply could say, but none of it seems fitting. I want to tell you that I was very happy, and could only have been happier if you could have come over as well, like Carlotta did, but this life was well enough for what it was, and I regret next to nothing. I think my only remaining wish is that I could see you, yes, really see and hear you, just once more in case I can't make that stop I talked about earlier. So I could say all those things in person, or so you could guess them, since you know me so well._

 _I'm very tired now, all the time. Especially when I put thought to such things as this. Though you know what's funny? I never have had any of those memory problems you're told to expect when you get older. In light of all that nonsense way back when, I have been rather surprised at this! I'm glad I never forgot anything. I got to remember everything in the purest detail possible, and I am so very grateful._

 _I think I need to rest now, writing and thinking about such things has been much more tiresome than I care to admit lately, but it is all very worth it, especially if you somehow can read all these._

 _Remember to be good always!_

 _Fondest memories and eternal love,_

 _Christine Daae-Guidecelli_

This letter is dated two days before her death, where she passed away in a peaceful slumber. She was found with a rose tied in black ribbon, smiling gently. The funeral was small, but photographs of the even show an extra figure that no one can account for. Photographs taken of the site today sometimes yield a shadowy presence over the headstone, but always, always there is a rose sitting nearby. Even more than forty years later, this holds true."

"And who puts the roses there?" My friend asks. He knows the answer, but he also knows that the story needs to end. It always has to, but in a way, it never will. As long as I rule this kingdom in her image, in her name, with her kindness in mind, I will place that red rose on that stone every year. She who would have ruled effortlessly and with infinite charity and compassion. My Christine… the girl who brought music, real music, back into my world. I will always feel perhaps less than real, without her, always a bit broken knowing she has passed through the veil and that I cannot follow for the sake of the promise I made her, but it is what it is. She is gone, and I remain, and so her name will always be in my heart, in my mind, on the edge of my lips.

I look out on the kingdom, and feel a little broken indeed. But I hold the violin and I remember every kindness she ever showed me, and I know I can persist. In her name, in her memory, for her kindness..

"I do."

~{(| The End |)}~


End file.
